


breath comes sharp and heart beats faster

by justaboat



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:39:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1213012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justaboat/pseuds/justaboat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>au. louis is going nowhere fast, but at least now he has someone to go there with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breath comes sharp and heart beats faster

**Author's Note:**

> leighanne, light of my life for always being here to talk things out, listen to me grumble, beta and read things over for me and without a moments hesitation. i love you with my whole heart.
> 
> also hannah, amber, ramla, and jill for listening to me whine and reading bits here and there for me and talking things out. couldn't have done it without you.

The thing about high school is, Louis hates it. It’s a fuck hole in the middle of nowhere filled with fuck heads who are doing nothing except dicking off and have no real plans for their future.

Which would possibly explain why he’s currently getting high in the bathroom. Technically he’s supposed to be in his media studies class with Miss. Smith but Louis can’t be fucked to go. So instead he’d decided this was a better option.

To be fair, he does feel rather good about the whole thing. Though that might be the weed talking, he thinks, puffing out a bit of smoke in front of him. He can never do the smoke rings Zayn can always do, and he’ll always be fucking jealous of Zayn for that. Even now, slumped against a wall littered with graffiti Louis still can’t do it. He’s cursed, possibly. 

There’s movement outside and Louis pauses, briefly, making himself ready to put out the joint at any second if someone opens the door. But whoever it is passes by, not coming inside and he nearly sighs with relief. It’s the bathroom by the locker rooms, no one uses this one anyway. It smells like piss and there’s never any toilet paper stocked, not to mention the cracked window above the mirrors. It’s mostly deserted at any given time of the day, so it’s the safest place to smoke besides somewhere outside the stands but there’s football practice going on right now which means if he smoked out there he’d most definitely get caught. 

Which wouldn’t be so bad, not really. He would most likely get a few days home on suspension and a little slap on the wrist, that’s it. Because no one in this fucked up facility seems to care if he’s high or not.

He should’ve tried smoking out by his locker, seen what would’ve happened then. Maybe Head Teacher Greenwood would’ve joined him, it wouldn’t shock Louis in the slightest. Nothing really shocks him now though, to be fair.

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Gemma. _do u wanna pick up ur geography paper tonight?_ Louis frowns, remembering that he’s still got to get his payment for her. He could possibly get some weed off of Zayn, maybe. Except he still owes Zayn from last time. Shit. 

_yeh, sure. ill be by a little after nine_ he sends instead, deciding that he’ll worry about paying Gemma for it later. 

Niall tells him he should feel guilty about having people do his homework for him, but it’s fucking geography and it’s not like he’s going to need it in the future, so. That’s his reasoning. With his joint nearly finished Louis takes one last inhale, making sure it’s out before tossing it into the garbage bin. There’s not much he can do about the smell except spray a bit of cologne on himself, starting to chew on a piece of gum from a package stuffed into the bottom of his bag. The bell rings when he exits the bathroom, students filling the halls to their last class when he stops off by his locker.

“Didn’t feel like coming to history then?” a voice comes when Louis has hardly had a moment to even put the code in for his lock. “Jesus, Lou, are you — did you smoke up in the bathroom again?”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him, taking out a blue notebook in the back of his locker. “Can’t prove it,” he says with a shrug. Zayn groans.

“Pez and I took notes for you, you arsehole,” he grunts, shoving a few papers towards Louis.

“You’re the best, you know,” Louis tells him sincerely with a grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Are you actually going to go to your next class?” he asks. Louis holds up a copy of the book they’re reading in class. Romeo and Juliet, as the title reads.

“Hopelessly boring,” Louis laments.

“Right, well. This is high school,” Zayn deadpans. 

Zayn’s got biology next, taking the stairs to the lab when Louis continues to his next class. Upon his arrival there’s only a handful of students there, and he realizes with a fair bit of agony that he’s early for class. A travesty, that.

Regardless, he takes a seat in the back. His teacher, Mr. Russell is already there, at his desk and looking through a rather large binder in front of him. Louis takes out his phone, still a few minutes to spare as he scrolls through Facebook aimlessly, trying to distract himself. 

“Louis,” he hears a voice somewhere above him. “Nice of you to join us.”

Louis looks up, finding none other than Mr. Russell sitting on the edge of the desk in front of him. He blinks, making sure his teacher isn’t talking to any other potential Louis’ in the room but nope. It’s just him, apparently.

“Thought I’d give this class another go,” Louis replies.

Mr. Russell smiles, though it’s not in amusement. He’s got his hands folded in his lap, looking rather formal, Louis thinks. “How’s your short story coming?”

Louis swallows. He’s not nervous or anything, more so trying to remember what short story his teacher is referring to. Possibly homework, or possibly a reading he was supposed to do for class. He can’t recall, honestly.

“Fine, yeah,” Louis says with a small shrug. He locks his phone, putting it back into his pocket.

“Have you started it?” Mr. Russell asks.

Louis has never been good at lying. Rather shit at it, actually. “Sure, of course. Gonna impress you, sir,” he says, trying to sound confident.

Mr. Russell exhales, the sound loud and full of disappointment, Louis observes in mild amusement. “How many words have you got?”

His lips are chapped, running his tongue along his lower lip to try and soothe them. He doesn’t respond right away. The bell’s gone off, students filling in but Mr. Russell doesn’t move. Instead, he continues looking intently at Louis. Which is creepy but, sure. “Don’t know. Don’t like to keep count. Makes me less focused,” Louis answers finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. And I look forward to reading your short story in a number of weeks,” Mr. Russell says and finally stands before adding, “Though I should remind you that it counts for a good forty-five percent of your grade, Louis.”

“Noted,” Louis says somewhat seriously with a nod. 

From there class begins, Mr. Russell standing at the front and starting in on their next section of Romeo and Juliet. Which, from what Louis can gather, is a pretty gruesome story. Or will be, with the way things are shaping up. It’s not that Louis particularly is enjoying this play, he’s mostly in it for the end when they all die. Zayn had spoiled the whole thing for him, not that Louis is complaining. 

Still, though. It’s all a bit misfortunate, how everything’s playing out. A bit ridiculous, too, at this rather large gap in communications going on that would — you know — inform Romeo that his wife is, in fact alive, which would solve everything. It’s just frustrating to him, is all. Would also stop a few deaths from occurring, also.

He half listens to the lecture, mostly thinking about how he has to somehow get from his house to Gemma’s with the car that he’s supposedly grounded from using, due to his mother grounding him after he had come home an hour after his assigned curfew last Saturday. And it’s not like he can easily walk there, either, it’s at least over an hour to get there without a car. Bus would be even more of a mess, Louis doesn’t even want to bother with that.

The bell finally goes off, Louis packing up his things quickly to avoid another weird run-in with Mr. Russell, taking his bag and heading off to his locker. By the time he gets outside his mum is already in the parking lot, the twins in the back seat when he gets inside.

“Good day at school?” she asks him, backing out of her parking space.

“Fine,” Louis replies simply. “I do um — need a favour tonight, though.”

He immediately sees his mother frown, which is never a good sign. “What is it, Louis.” It’s not a question. Also a bad sign.

“I’ve got this huge paper for geography due and I need to get to Gemma’s house or I’ll flunk out,” Louis says quickly, trying to make himself sound as desperate as possible.

She’s quiet at first, which is good, because it means she isn’t completely shutting down the idea. “You’ll be home before ten?” she asks after a moment, voice firm.

“Yes, of course. Nine fifty-five, if you’d prefer,” Louis says, perhaps with a little more sarcasm than necessary.

His mum gives him a look. “Just promise me you’ll be home before ten.”

“I promise.”

The radio is playing a song Louis doesn’t know as he hears her tap on the steering wheel, considering, and a mantra of _please please fucking please say yes or I’m actually going to fail out of school_ going through his head when she says, "Fine. If you’re not back on time, you’ll be grounded until the end of the year.”

Louis nods. “Yeah, I’ll be home in time, I promise.”

She gives him another look, before focusing her eyes back fully on the road. And that’s the end of that, Louis thinks with a slight bit of satisfaction. 

—

He’s only been to Gemma’s house a handful of times, mostly to collect his homework. But he knows the area well, knows the same walk up to the front door on the same cobble stone path. The house is bright when he pulls in, stopping the car for a moment to get his backpack from the backseat. His mother had given him the keys with another stern warning, to which Louis had once again promised he would be home in time. 

And now here he is. Without a second thought he makes his way to the front door, knocking once while he awaits a response. It’s about a minute before it finally opens, Gemma standing there in front of him with an expectant look on her face.

“You didn’t reply to my texts,” she starts accusingly.

Louis scoffs, waving a hand about dismissively. “I’m a very busy man, I have a lot of texts to reply to,” he says.

Gemma rolls her eyes, opening the door a bit farther so he can step inside. It’s warmer than outside, smelling like pasta and some sort of sweet smelling pastry when there’s movement from the kitchen.

“Gemma dear? Who’s that?” comes a familiar voice.

“Just Louis, mum,” Gemma says. Louis looks at her for a moment, though he hardly has any time to come up with some sort of witty remark before Mrs. Styles is in the doorway to the kitchen, face bright where she’s drying a glass.

“Louis dear, how are you?” she asks, voice warm and welcoming. She’s always liked him, for reasons Louis could never understand.

“Fine, yeah, just came by to do some homework with Gemma,” Louis replies, smiling a little.

“Right, of course. I’ll put some tea on for you guys, yeah?” she offers.

“Thanks mum,” Gemma says, starting toward the stairs. “We’ll just be in my room.”

Anne nods before stepping back into the kitchen, leaving Gemma and Louis to take the rest of the stairs up to her bedroom. It’s quiet in her room, the same quiet he’d had earlier in the bathroom when he’d been skipping history. But it’s different here, Louis thinks.

Here there’s picture frames and posters along the wall, pictures of friends and old summer holidays. He sits on the edge of her bed, bracing his hands against his thighs. “So. Have a good day at school?” Louis asks conversationally.

Gemma swats at his arm, looking through a binder when she hands him a small stack of papers, stapled together in the left corner. “Don’t be a dick,” she says.

“Was trying to be nice, Jesus,” Louis defends but he’s laughing, a little.

It’s their lab report due on Wednesday, looking through it briefly before nodding, satisfied. “Looks good,” he says, not knowing the difference if it was shit or not. 

“This isn’t for free, you know,” Gemma says, extending a hand toward him.

Louis groans, rubbing a hand along his face, irritated. “That’s going to be a bit. I have to get it from Zayn but he’s a bit — tied up, at the moment.”

“ _Louis_ ,” Gemma exaggerates the syllables on his name, annoyed. 

Louis smirks, opening his bag and handing her a bottle of vodka he’d managed to get from the basement without his mother catching him. Gemma accepts it, staring at it for a moment, as if deciding if this proper payment or not. Finally, she nods in what Louis can only assume to be approval.

“Fine,” Gemma says, hands on her hips. “Do you need anything else?”

“Don’t think so,” Louis says.

“Right, well. I guess I’ll see you next week?” she asks, somewhat dismissively. 

Louis nods, making his way toward her door. “You love me, Gem. Don’t deny it.”

Gemma scrunches her nose but doesn’t make any sort of protest, and that’s answer enough for Louis as he walks back out her bedroom door once more, stuffing the lab report into his bag as he makes his way back down the stairs. 

He’s about halfway down the stairs when he hears Anne’s voice again. “Louis? Are you leaving already?” she asks, holding a pot of tea and Louis feels instantaneously guilty when he notices it.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to rush — gotta go home and help my mum with my sisters,” Louis says apologetically, Anne’s pout noticeable from where he’s putting on his shoes.

“You’ll just have to stay later next time then,” Anne says simply, as if it’s already decided.

Louis smiles. He’s never met anyone who’s quite like Anne before, if he’s being honest. “Next time then,” he tells her, and it sounds like a promise.

One he probably won’t keep.

He says goodbye to Gemma, taking his bag and going back out the front door once more. It’s getting colder, the thin October air hitting his lungs through his lightly layered shirt, now regretting not bringing a coat like his mother had suggested.

Somewhere between getting out his car keys and not tripping over his own two feet there’s a voice, a little to his left. “You alright?”

“Shit, fucking _Jesus Christ_ —” Louis spins around, nearly letting out an embarrassingly loud scream until he spots the person, leaning against the garage door. “Fine, yeah. You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack though,” Louis says, breathing heavily with a hand clutched to his chest. “Do you have a habit of stalking by garage doors and watching high school boys go to their car?”

“Not really,” Tall Boy says, flicking the end of his cigarette. Doesn’t smell like cigarette smoke though, Louis observes. “Because I live here, so. I think the questioning goes to me here, doesn’t it?”

Louis opens his mouth, then shuts it. “You live here?” he repeats.

“Harry,” he introduces, now stepping into the light and dear God, Louis thinks. 

“Louis,” he says, blinking. “Your family has some impeccable genes there.”

For a moment Louis fears he might have overstepped some line, possibly, but then Harry’s laughing — the sound hushed from where he’s muffling it with a hand pressed to his mouth. “Do you normally go around hitting on your friends' brothers?”

“No. But I might make a habit of it now,” Louis says.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “Cocky,” he says observingly.

“You’ve no idea,” Louis says with a wink, watching Harry smile in response. Jesus fuck, he’s got dimples. Those are some serious dimples, Louis thinks with an odd mixture of horror and arousal. “Think your family won’t notice you smelling like weed when you get in then?”

“No one does normally,” Harry says. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, though?”

He’s teasing him. Harry is teasing Louis, out here, on the driveway at nine thirty at night. Louis feels like a toddler, especially with the way Harry’s grinning at him now.

“Right, well. Should probably be getting home then,” Louis says, taking a step backward. “Nice meeting you.”

“Nice meeting you too, Louis,” Harry says, tossing the last of his joint into the lawn before making his way up the steps to the door.

Louis does not watch the way Harry’s hips sway when he does, thank you very much. He has his eyes focused on the road like any practiced, well trained driver.

—

Louis is naturally a curious person, and he finds himself to be a curious person when it comes to the subject of Harry Styles.

“Jesus, Lou, will you stop grilling me?” Niall snaps, shoving a textbook into his locker the next day after first class.

Louis makes a whining sound, shaking his head. “No, no, Niall this is dire, I need your help with this.”

“I’m not your personal stalker,” Niall argues, “why don’t you just ask Gemma?”

“Because that’ll be horribly obvious, Niall, don’t you know anything?” Louis says, somewhat dramatically.

Niall rolls his eyes, closing his locker and putting his binder and textbook into his bag. Louis doesn’t relent, walking beside him to his next class. “Just — ask Perrie, alright? She knows more than I do anyway,” Niall says, “and don’t tell her I sent you.”

Louis grins. “Good thing I’ve got history with her next,” he says, ignoring Niall’s groan as he walks into his next class, not even saying a goodbye to Louis when he does. Though he does mutter something that sounds like, “this is gonna end so fucking badly.”

“No fucking way,” is the first thing Zayn says as Louis sits beside him. “Are you actually here? Am I seeing this correctly?”

“First,” Louis starts, taking out his notebook. He’s not sure he’s even opened it until today, actually, all the pages unsurprisingly blank. “Fuck you. And second — I like history.”

Zayn snorts, balancing his pen on his index finger. “You hate history.”

Louis doesn’t say anything in response, instead turning his attention to Perrie, who is sitting in front of Zayn. “Perrie, Pez — hey. Hi.”

She turns, glancing over her shoulder and giving Louis a curious look. Next she looks at Zayn, who shrugs without saying anything, so she looks back at Louis once more. “What do you want, Louis.”

“I just — it’s nothing big, really,” Louis says, decidedly not commenting on Zayn’s laugh beside him. “I wanted to see if you knew anything about a Harry Styles?”

Perrie’s brow furrows as she blinks. “Like Gemma’s brother?”

Louis nods. “The very one,” he says, the teacher — fuck, Louis doesn’t even know his name — starts introducing the class. Apparently they’re doing independent work on their papers, which. Louis didn’t even know they had a paper due so that’s convenient, he supposes. 

“I don’t know a lot, just what Gemma’s told me,” Perrie says, narrowing her eyes. “Why do you want to know so badly then?”

“No reason,” Louis says quickly, “curiosity, all that.”

“Didn’t curiosity kill the cat?” Zayn cuts in.

Louis ignores him, instead continuing to look at Perrie. Perrie doesn’t say anything for a moment, instead looking between them before taking out her textbook, shrugging. “He graduated almost three years ago, he lives at home, didn’t go to uni and works at a record store, I think.”

“Which one?” Louis presses impatiently.

“That shitty one downtown, apparently. Disk Jockey’s, or something?” Perrie says.

Louis nods, slowly. “Right, sure. That’s good enough I guess,” he says finally.

He doesn’t say anything to Perrie’s last curious glance but instead opens his textbook, relaying the information back in his head. Harry’s older, graduated school and didn’t go to uni. Also other information he knows is: Harry likes to smoke pot, has a really fucking nice car, and is also pretty fucking hot so, that’s a few other notable things, Louis reckons. And for the rest of the period he stays quiet for the most part, not doing his paper and most importantly not thinking about getting high with Harry and making out with him in the back of his car.

Absolutely not.

— 

On Saturday, Louis makes a trip downtown. They need bread, and there’s a bakery near the end of the street. So he gets a loaf of freshly made bread, still warm in the package when he puts it along with a few other bags of groceries into the back of the car. And, Louis thinks, glancing to a small shop near where the car is parked. He might, possibly, maybe, need a record or two.

The sign is nearly falling off the entryway, Louis observes as he opens the door. A small bell dings, making his entrance known as he looks inside. It’s a bit of a mess, shelves not really organized and the walls stained a colour that doesn’t look like paint. 

“Can I help you?”

Louis nearly smiles when he hears the low voice coming from near the back of the store, glancing up with a small, innocent shake of his head. “No, no. Just browsing.”

Harry stops where he’s holding what looks like a book of some kind, a pen hanging out of his mouth when he stares at Louis a moment. “Louis?” he asks.

“Ah, you remembered my name. Always a good sign,” Louis says, taking a step further inside. “Tell me, do you happen to have a cd I’m looking for? It’s for a friend.”

Harry shakes his head, giving Louis a look of disbelief when he abandons the book onto the counter near the till. He doesn’t take the pen out of his mouth though, which looks a big obscene where it’s hanging over his lower lip. _God_ , that is obscene.

“Possibly,” Harry says, leaning his hip against the counter. “But I don’t help customers who give my little sister alcohol.”

Louis nearly chokes on nothing. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t think I didn’t know, Louis. You think I didn’t do the same thing when I was in school?” Harry asks, and he’s almost smiling.

“I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about. What I do need, however, is a copy of Elvis Costello’s Deep Dead Blue, if you have it.”

Harry chews the pen lid for a moment, considering. “Why did you give it to her?” he asks, walking towards a shelf that looks to be a right mess.

“Because I think she’s cute,” Louis replies. Harry shoots him a look, unconvinced. Louis sighs, mostly in defeat. “Because she wrote a geography paper for me and I figured that she’d like something in return for it.”

“Ah, there it is,” Harry says, now looking through a stack of cd’s. 

“There’s what?” Louis asks.

“The truth. I haven’t a fucking clue where the cd is, it’s a fucking disaster in here,” Harry says.

Louis glances around, shaking his head. He opens his mouth to say something but there’s another voice from the back room again. “Going to get lunch, d’you want anything?” A tall, gangly man asks.

“I’m good thanks. I’ll cover for you,” Harry says. The man nods, giving him a grin before going back out the door. 

“Alright, well. This cd hunt is useless so I’m going to go,” Louis says, taking a step back toward the door. Harry watches him, but doesn’t follow. “You’ve been a massive help though, really,” he adds sarcastically.

And he might feel a bit of satisfaction as Harry smiles in response, those dimples Louis has become so fond of coming into view again. “Stop giving my sister illegal substances, you hear me?”

“Is that supposed to be menacing? Because you need to work on that, Styles,” Louis says, somewhat seriously. 

“Fuck off, you don’t know how menacing I can be,” Harry retaliates and Louis laughs.

“I can’t wait to see it, honestly, might document the whole thing myself,” Louis says, pushing open the door. The bell dings again but somehow it sounds louder this time, if that’s possible.

“Bye, Louis,” Harry says, but he’s smiling.

“Bye, Harry,” Louis says and he’s smiling too.

—

“Fuck, this burger is amazing,” Niall says, mouth stuffed with food.

They’re in Zayn’s car which mostly smells of pot and greasy food, parked at some park a few minutes from Louis’ house. “Really fucking amazing,” Louis agree’s after a few moments, taking a crisp from between him and Zayn where they’re sitting the center console. 

“How did your detective hunt go?” Niall asks after a moment, nudging Louis’ arm with his foot from the backseat.

Louis blinks, looking back toward him. “What hunt?” he asks, confused.

Niall grins, Zayn doing the same from the drivers seat as Louis looks between them. “You know, with Gemma’s brother you have the hots for.”

Louis rolls his eyes, tossing a napkin back toward Niall. “Nothing. Shut up.”

“Defensive,” Zayn says. Louis doesn’t argue. He pouts instead, arms crossed over his chest.

They’re listening to Frank Ocean, because Zayn’s been on a Frank Ocean kick lately, so all Louis has heard in the past few weeks has been a steady stream of his music. Not that Louis minds from where he’s sitting, finishing off the last of his burger as he puts the wrapper into the paper bag their food had come in. It’s Friday and the tradition of burgers and pot in Zayn’s car is one they’ve upheld for all their years as friends, since back in year nine when they’d started it. Louis doesn’t really remember how or when exactly it started, but either way every Friday night they’re always here, and it’s a tradition he rather likes that they’ve kept.

“Are you going to Jesy’s party this weekend?” Niall asks, somewhere between Louis almost dozing off in Zayn’s front seat.

“Maybe yeah, not sure yet though,” Zayn says with a shrug.

“Can’t go,” Louis says, shaking his head.

There’s a pause. Then, “why not?” Niall asks.

“Got some homework to catch up on,” Louis says simply. Niall starts choking loudly. 

“Are you — Louis? Are you feeling alright?” Niall manages to ask between coughs.

Louis rolls his eyes, shooting him a look over his shoulder. “Fuck off. I have to finish this fucking short story for english. It’s gonna take forever.”

Zayn nods. “Proud of you,” he says, though it’s mostly sarcastic.

Louis sticks out his tongue, hearing Zayn laugh in response as he leans back in the seat comfortably. Technically his plans for tomorrow are sleep as much as he can throughout the day but they don’t need to know that, anyway. He could always write a short story about that, Louis is almost sure Mr. Russell would love it.

—

Through a fair bit of begging and a sad amount of bribing on his part, Louis finds himself with Harry Styles’ phone number. He’s been debating what to text for a good part of the day, holed up in his room with his computer open in an attempt to do some homework. Though all he’s really done is a whole amount of nothing except watch Prison break, which Louis justifies as a portion of his day well spent.

_helllllllllo? im still waiting for that elvis costello cd. what sort of establishment are you running there? despicable. i should report you to the record shop police._

He doesn’t expect a response so quickly, his phone lighting up as he opens up the text. It’s Harry, unsurprisingly. _Louis? How did you get this number?_

Louis smirks. _didnt answer my question, styles_ he sends back.

He’s not even paying attention to this episode anymore, the reply coming within the next few minutes as he picks up his phone again. _I told you this place is a fucking mess it’s hard to find anything in there. You’re always welcome to come digging for it yourself. If you find it I’ll give it to you half off. That sound like a plan?_

Louis pauses, considering. _will you be there?_

_Not today, I’m at a friends house right now. But I’m sure you’d love my manager, Nick. He’s a real gem. Sarcastic, kinda like you._

_have enough friends, thanks. ill just come in next time you’re working._

_What are you doing tomorrow?_

Louis chews his lower lip thoughtfully. Downstairs he can hear his mom and sisters setting the table, all of them talking loudly over one another. _not much, really. should be doing homework but i cant really be fucked to do it rn._

_We could, you know, hangout. If you wanted._

_make a habit of hitting on all your sisters friends? ;)_

_Fuck you._

_payback’s a bitch, styles._

_I’ll pick you up at two thirty you dick_

And if Louis is a little satisfied with himself, he’s allowed to be.

—

If Louis had to guess what hanging out with Harry Styles entails, he doesn’t have a fucking clue. Regardless his mother lets him go out and when Harry pulls in front of his house at two thirty Louis tells himself that he isn’t nervous, he’s just excited.

Which is in equal parts ridiculous, he thinks as he opens the front seat door to Harry’s car.

“You could’ve brought your homework to do, you know,” is the first thing Harry says.

“Got it already done you asshole,” Louis lies.

Harry gives him a look, one eyebrow raised but he doesn’t say anything else about it as he backs out onto the road. It gives Louis a moment to appreciate how fucking big his hands are where they’re gripped around the steering wheel, because they’re pretty big. “Where are we going then?” Louis finally asks when Harry makes no start to the conversation.

“Just a few errands I gotta do,” Harry answers with a shrug. “I want food, do you want some food? I’m fucking starving.”

“Errands? What are you, eighty?” Louis asks. Harry laughs, flipping on his turn signal as he takes a left out onto the main road.

“Alright, burgers it is,” Harry decides, Louis making no protests against the decision as they continue driving.

Harry pays for both their orders, which. Sure. Maybe he’s just being nice, Louis tells himself as he takes the bag from Harry before they go back out to his car. It’s a smaller car, so it’s a wonder Harry even fits in it seeing as Louis has hardly any leg room as it is.

“So. Where are we actually going? A record store that actually has records you could find?” Louis asks, taking a bite of his burger.

Harry shakes his head, fiddling with the radio dial. “Something a bit more interesting,” he says after a moment.

“What, like a trip to the zoo?” Louis asks, taking a drink of his soda.

“Bit cold for the zoo,” Harry comments, eyes focused on the road.

Louis licks his lips, suddenly out of ideas. “A pet shop?”

“Allergic to cats,” Harry tells him.

“What a sad life you must lead,” Louis says, “cats are one of the few joys in life, Styles.”

Harry doesn’t respond, but he’s smiling a bit as he pulls into a parking lot. The sky is still grey outside, clouds looming above them as Louis pauses. He glances out the window, seeing the sign for the local tattoo parlour, Sinkin’ Ink. 

“Is this when you tell me you lead a double life as a tattoo artist?” Louis asks.

Harry barks out another laugh, putting his garbage from his food into the back seat. The car’s stopped as he takes his keys out of the ignition, Louis following him as they open their doors and step out onto the pavement. “I have an appointment at three,” Harry says.

“An appointment?” Louis repeats, “like — a tattoo?”

“I _am_ debating getting my nipple pierced,” Harry says, rather serious. Louis rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a fuck head,” Louis says, following Harry inside.

It’s empty except for a man at the front desk, head bowed where he’s looking at a stack of papers as they approach him. “Louis, this is Patrick,” Harry introduces.

“You’re on a first name basis with your tattoo artist?” Louis asks. Harry doesn’t answer. “Nice to meet you,” he adds to Patrick, who nods.

“I was thinking maybe I’d get your face on my arm, just here,” Harry says as they’re both led into a curtained area, motioning to a part of his forearm.

Louis makes a face. “Are you a fucking idiot, Styles, if you’re getting my face on you it’s going to be on your dick.”

Harry lets out a strangled, weirdly high pitched noise before he’s ushered into a rather large looking chair. Louis sits himself down onto a small wooden stool beside Harry, Patrick on the other side of him with a rather large fucking needle. Zayn’s gotten a handful of tattoo’s but Niall’s always been the one to go with him, Louis always feeling squeamish at the idea of sitting and watching his friend being prodded with a needle for a few hours.

“Is it the design you brought in last time?” Patrick asks, looking through a few pieces of papers. 

Harry nods, pointing to one sheet. “I just want them on my chest, just here?” Harry’s pointing to his chest and Louis is finding that a little distracting, honestly.

“Alright then, take it off,” Patrick says and Harry shoots Louis a grin, the bastard.

Louis pointedly takes out his phone, scrolling through nothing really important as Harry takes off his shirt. When Louis finally looks up Harry’s extending it toward him, a cheeky grin on his face. “Hold onto that for me? I’d be very grateful,” Harry says, dimples and all.

“Sure,” Louis manages, but what he really means is _fuck you and your half naked self_ , though he keeps that last bit to himself in his present agony.

And so the process begins. It’s all bit strange to Louis to watch, though Harry seems completely at ease with all of it. Even when Patrick starts with the massively terrifyingly large tattoo gun Harry hardly even flinches, his entire body relaxed on the chair. 

Louis texts Zayn, asking how the party was because apparently by the looks of things this is going to be a while. Two hours, according to Harry. There isn’t much to do here for two hours, Zayn isn’t replying to his texts as Louis stands, starting to look at the frames of designs and drawings around the room.

He’s always sort of wanted a tattoo, though Louis doesn’t have any sort of clue what he would get. He wouldn’t even know where to begin to plan for a tattoo, though Zayn always tells him it’s easy to come up with something if you just think about things that mean a lot to you, apparently. Louis presses his lips together, crossing his arms over his chest when there’s the sound of the door opening.

“I’ll be right back,” Patrick tells Harry before stepping out from behind the curtain, leaving the two of them there.

Louis turns, finding Harry already looking at him from where he’s still laying on the chair. “Does it hurt?” Louis finally asks, sitting back down on the wooden stool.

Harry shrugs, glancing down to his chest. “Sort of? But I sort of like it, so.”

Louis stares at him, blinking. “I’m sorry you what?”

A look of amusement crosses Harry’s features, like he was expecting this reaction. “I dunno, it kind of feels nice. Soothing?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Louis says, but he’s laughing a little.

A silence passes between them, Harry glancing down to his chest once more. There’s a conversation going on in the other room, Louis not really focusing on their words as he clears his throat. “Do you wanna see what it’s going to be?” Harry finally asks a moment later.

Louis nods, having wondered what the fuck Harry’s getting tattooed across his chest the moment they walked into this place. His question is soon answered as Harry hands him the paper, the ink dark across the page as Louis looks at it for a moment. It’s two birds, one smaller and one bigger. Chest pieces, apparently, where they’re being drawn in on Harry’s skin. 

“I like it,” Louis says truthfully, handing the paper back to Harry. “Where’d you come up with it?”

“I like birds,” Harry says. Louis snorts.

“Brilliant. And I like weed, should I get a joint tattooed on my chest then?” Louis asks.

“If you want. Might regret it later though,” Harry says and Louis rolls his eyes, laughing.

Patrick comes back a few minutes later, resuming his work and leaving Louis bored once again where he’s sitting. Maybe he should’ve brought with some homework, that would’ve been more exciting than this. 

He tells Harry he’s going to get a coffee, asks if either of them want anything and soon enough Louis is out the door with a piece of receipt paper with their orders on the back. Down the street there’s a small coffee shop, just where Patrick told Louis there’d be as he pushes through the door. It’s getting cold outside, the leaves changing colour as Louis gets in line. When he reaches the girl at the desk he gives her his order: a small americano for Harry, a mocha for Patrick, and a latte for himself. He puts them onto a take away tray, starting back to the tattoo shop.

Harry’s nearly done by the time Louis pulls back the curtain, setting the two drinks onto a small table as he goes to inspect Harry’s chest. And it’s maybe sort of nice, having a reason to look at Harry shirtless, not that Louis really cares. Because he doesn’t care, Harry could run around completely naked and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelash.

“You sure it doesn’t hurt? Looks fucking red, man,” Louis asks, taking a sip of his drink.

Harry glances up to him. “Don’t even really feel it anymore,” he says, like it’s no fucking big deal, or anything.

Louis winces anyway, nodding as they finish up Harry’s chest. It doesn’t take long, and there’s a weird moment when Louis watches Patrick put what looks to be plastic wrap on his chest, which. Sure. That seems normal, Louis thinks without commenting on it. 

“What are you going to name them?” Louis asks as they step back outside, the air still really fucking cold as he shivers.

Harry gives him a confused look. “Name who?”

“Your birds,” Louis replies, pointing toward them.

“I — hadn’t thought about that,” Harry replies, unlocking Louis’ side first before getting into the driver’s seat.

“Pretty important, I reckon. Should get on that,” Louis says as Harry starts the car.

They drive and it’s nice, because Louis is starting to realize that Harry isn’t the sort of person who needs to talk to fill the silence, that he’s instead content in just sitting in it. Which is something Louis isn’t used to, but he’s finding himself still enjoying it nonetheless. 

“So I have another idea,” Harry starts at a stop light near Louis’ house.

“Ah, you have my curiosity. Do tell,” Louis encourages.

Harry’s biting one corner of his lower lip, pointing toward the glove compartment. “Open that and tell me what you think.”

Louis does as Harry instructs, opening the small door to find a bag of joints. He holds them up, looking at Harry with raised eyebrows before setting the bag down into his lap. “I think we could possibly do something with these,” Louis says slowly.

Harry grins. “That’s the answer I was hoping for.”

—

Louis’ mom isn’t home, working late so it’s safe to park in front of his house. Or so he assures Harry repeatedly before they finally smoke up, Louis with his knees to his chest as he exhales, slowly.

He likes Harry when he’s high. It’s not much different than when he’s not, except he talks slower, and his lips become more puffy — his eyes getting this glassy look to them, somehow. They don’t talk about much, having weird, short conversations with the radio playing softly in the background. 

“I don’t understand you, Louis,” Harry says a little while later.

Louis stares at Harry for a moment, smiling in mild amusement. “Good or bad?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Harry answers, his voice quieter.

“Fair enough,” Louis says, the car still smelling of that sweet, lingering smell of pot.

Neither of them say anything for a few moments, and Louis isn’t sure what’s going to happen next. He half expected Harry to kiss him by now, but with the way things are going Louis isn’t sure that’s even going to happen at this rate. So instead he sits, patiently, knees tucked under his chin and the sun slowly starting to set behind them. It’s only half past six but Louis is buzzing like he normally gets at around eleven or twelve. Maybe it’s the pot, Louis thinks, but maybe it’s Harry.

For a brief moment Harry leans forward, just a bit, and Louis’ heart starts to beat a little faster because maybe, just _maybe_ — Harry’s going to kiss him. “I should um, I should go. Told my mom I’d be home for dinner at seven,” Harry says instead.

Louis blinks, nodding slowly as he unfolds himself from the front seat. “Thanks for inviting me,” Louis says slowly.

“Thanks for coming,” Harry replies, tapping against the steering wheel. “Maybe I’ll — see you next weekend?”

“I mean, if you’re not too busy looking for that Elvis Costello cd then sure, yeah,” Louis replies, smiling as he gets out of the car.

“I make no promises,” Harry says with a final, short wave before driving off just after Louis’ closed the door behind himself.

His limbs are starting to feel heavy again as he makes his way up toward the house, the pot settling as he opens the front door. It’s Sunday evening, which means the girls are all crowded in front of the television watching a movie, the twins wearing their princess dresses where they’re laying on their stomachs. Louis smiles a little, setting down his coat before making his way upstairs.

He could, possibly, do some homework. Sometime yesterday he’d managed to get the introduction for his history paper done, which in and of itself is quite the accomplishment, really. So Louis sits at his desk, opening his laptop as he stares at the screen for a moment.

Or, maybe he could start his fucking short story that’s worth fucking forty-five percent of his final grade. That’s almost fifty percent, Louis thinks with a small bit of panic.

_There’s this boy, and he’s sort of beautiful. Really fucking beautiful, actually. The sort of beautiful that makes you stop every so often and think to yourself that, hey, yeah, this guy is really sort of gorgeous. And maybe that’s weird to say, but it’s all I can think about when I see him. He takes me on long drives, this boy. He’s got this old, worn out convertible and sometimes we just take the highway for hours and hours, the top down and I get to watch the curls whip around his face, the way the sunlight catches the tips of his hair — makes it seem almost blonde._

_So yeah, there’s this boy. And he’s sort of a big fucking deal._

Louis reads it over, nearly hunched over his desk as he sighs, loudly. Who the fuck even decided that he should take high school english, for God’s sake. 

But, that wasn’t so hard. A little easy, in fact, Louis thinks as he runs a hand through his hair. But before he can think about it any more he can hear his mother’s voice from downstairs, asking him to come set the table as Louis pushes himself away from his desk.

—

Harry texts him on Tuesday, something mostly useless about being bored at his job when Louis reads it in his english class. And it continues throughout the rest of the week, Harry texting him and Louis responding. But it’s not like they’re a _thing_ , which Niall seems to think that they are. They’re just friends, as Louis keeps telling him and Zayn. Just friends who text constantly, which is completely normal.

They practically interrogate Louis in the Zayn’s car on Friday but Louis pleads the fifth; refusing to answer any and all their questions. Though he does agree to go to Perrie’s party tomorrow with the two of them, so that gives him something to do besides the mountain of homework he so desperately wants to avoid.

So on Saturday Zayn comes to get him first before Niall, because Louis is on the way as he gets into the front seat. They don’t say much, but that’s because Louis doesn’t have very much to say as he picks at a loose thread on his sweater. 

“Do you really like him?” Zayn finally asks, his tone serious.

Louis clears his throat, should’ve seen this coming. “Who, Niall? Look, I know he’s had this obvious crush on me forever but —”

“Louis,” Zayn cuts him off, evidently not in the mood.

“I don’t know, fuck, why do I have to know if I like him or not already? We’ve hardly been talking over a week,” Louis says, defensive. From his pocket his phone buzzes.

“Bet I can guess who that is,” Zayn says, amused.

Louis flips him off. “I mean, sure, he’s hot. Really fucking hot. But I don’t know. He’s alright, I guess.”

“You guess,” Zayn repeats, deadpan.

“Fuck you,” Louis says, but they’re both laughing as they pull in front of Niall’s house.

“Alright, well. Just — be careful,” Zayn warns before the back door opens and Niall gets into the back seat.

In a word, Perrie’s party is dreadfully boring. So boring, in fact, that Louis has been playing Candy Crush on the kitchen counter for a little more than half an hour, having no luck in beating his highest score and becoming increasingly more and more frustrated about it.

Niall and Zayn have disappeared into the living room, looking rather cozy on a couch and Louis can’t be fucked to move, really. The music sucks, no one is really doing anything and there’s a lack of good, quality booze. So, a shitty party all around.

Getting an idea, Louis opens his texts. _this party fucking sucks please tell me you have another option for me on a saturday night_

Harry’s not working, texted Louis about an hour ago that he’s watching a movie with Gemma and his parents. Regardless, he texts back just as Louis loses another round. Fuck this game, honestly. _Eh, maybe._

Louis makes a face at his phone. _well are you gonna keep me waiting or what, styles?_

_You’re such a twat. What’s the address?_

He sends Perrie’s house number and street, now only having to wait for Harry’s text that he’s there. 

_Here. Where are you?_

Louis glances up, turning to see Harry standing in the door, looking horribly tall and also horribly lost all at once as Louis smirks, pushing himself up off the counter. “That was fast,” Louis says as he approaches him.

Harry turns to look at him, rolling his eyes. He might be blushing a little, but that might also be the lighting, Louis tells himself. “Did you time me?”

“No, but I should’ve. Would’ve been more interesting than this fucking party,” Louis says before adding — “I just need to tell my mates I’m leaving, I’ll be back.”

Harry nods, leaning against the door and fuck, sure, okay, Louis isn’t attracted to him at all. Or that’s what he needs to keep telling himself anyway as he approaches Zayn and Niall on the couch. Niall’s got his head buried in Zayn’s chest, hands gripping at his jumper as Louis blinks.

“Right, so, I’m going out with someone because this party fucking sucks,” Louis says simply.

Niall stirs, blinking awake as they both look up at him. “With who?” Zayn asks, trying to glance around Louis.

“No one important,” Louis says quickly, shaking his head.

“Harry,” Niall says, voice slow and sleepy as he rubs his eyes. “Gemma was complaining that her brother was stopping by this party when she got here a little while ago.”

Zayn gives him a look but Louis doesn’t respond, instead pressing kisses to both their foreheads before going back toward the front door. “They alright with this then?” Harry asks.

Louis nods. “Sure, yeah. Let’s just go before this party gets worse,” he says.

Harry raises an eyebrow at him. “How could it get worse?” he asks.

“We could run into your dear sister,” Louis points out and Harry doesn’t argue with him as they walk out to his car.

—

Eventually they end up parked a block from Louis’ house, smoking up in Harry’s car, which seems to be a regular occurrence for both of them. 

“Oh I um —” Harry says a little while later, the joint still hanging from his mouth as Louis nearly groans at the sight of it. He needs to stop doing that — having objects hang from his mouth, preferably now, Louis thinks as Harry opens the console between them. “I have a surprise for you.”

Louis turns, looking at Harry as he searches somewhat frantically. There’s a line across his forehead, concentrated as he goes through a large stack of cd’s. “If it’s more weed I think I’m alright mate,” Louis says.

Harry laughs a little, shaking his head as he pulls out a cd, handing it to Louis. “Took me almost my whole shift the other day, but I finally fucking found it.”

Louis blinks, turning it over in his hands as he takes in a sharp breath. It’s Elvis Costello’s Deep Dead Blue, he realizes as he runs his fingers along the cd cover. “Harry — fuck,” Louis breathes, his smile widening. “You found it.”

Harry’s smiling too, clearly proud. “It’s not a big thing, or anything.”

“Pretty fucking big, that store is a fucking disaster,” Louis says, nodding. “You’re officially my hero, Styles, you know that?”

Harry doesn’t say anything, but he does look a little oddly shy as Louis leans forward to press a kiss to his cheek in thanks. But then he finds himself not kissing a cheek but instead kissing what would appear to me Harry’s lips, if Louis is correct, and it feels like a fucking pair of lips so — he’s kissing Harry Styles right now, apparently.

He lets out a small squeak, Harry pulling back from their short, rather chaste kiss. Louis swallows, unsure of what to do next when he feels long, warm fingers take the case from his hands. “We could — listen to it. See if it’s any good,” Harry suggests, giving Louis a small smile before putting the cd in.

The music starts playing but all Louis can focus on is the fact that he’d just fucking kissed Harry. Or, that Harry had kissed him, because Louis is almost completely certain that when he’d leaned in just a few moments ago that his lips were aiming strictly for Harry’s cheek, no funny business. 

“Right yeah, music,” Louis says dumbly, running his tongue along his lower lip. 

They’re still close, Harry’s breath warm on Louis’ cheek as he starts to pull back, going to sit more comfortably in his seat when he feels a warm hand on the back of his neck. “Or we could keep doing what we were doing before,” Harry suggests.

“Cheeky,” Louis comments, but he’s leaning forward.

And before he can over think anything Harry’s kissing him again and Louis’ brain is a mantra of _holyfuckholyfuck_ because it’s all a bit hard to process, really.

Harry’s lips are soft as Louis kisses back before beginning to suck lightly on Harry’s lower lip. That solicits a groan that goes straight to Louis’ dick, making his cheeks flush because he was able to get that sort of reaction out of Harry Styles, of all people. So Louis does it again, trailing his fingertips lightly along Harry’s jaw line — feeling the stubble on his cheek, trying to remember where he can feel the dip in his cheeks, where his dimples are.

Harry’s hands are warm on Louis’ neck, the other pressing lightly into his upper arm, as if to ground himself. Which Louis understands, he really fucking understands. “This okay?” Harry asks, breathing heavily as Louis nods.

“Yeah, Harry — fuck. More than okay,” Louis responds quickly, closing the space between them once again.

It’s warm, the smoke still in the air making Louis’ head spin and everything feels hot, his heart pounding in his chest. But Harry doesn’t seem to notice, far too preoccupied with biting along Louis’ lower lip, apparently, not that Louis is complaining. 

A while later, after Louis’ lips are puffy and Harry’s hand is warm underneath his shirt, stroking the skin just above his hip, they pull apart. Harry’s smiling, a ridiculous wide smile, but he’s biting down on his lower lip to make it seem smaller, which isn’t helping. If anything, it’s making his dimples deeper in his cheeks.

Louis smiles a little, shaking his head as he runs his thumb along the corner of Harry’s lips wordlessly. They stay like that for a few minutes, neither of them making any effort to move where they’re sitting in Harry’s car, the only real light from the streetlamp above them.

Harry looks like he’s going to say something but then his phone buzzes from his pocket as he checks it. “I should, um — I need to pick up Gemma —” he starts, looking torn at the idea.

Louis laughs, quietly, nodding as he presses another kiss to Harry’s lips. “I’ll um, talk to you later?”

“I’ll text you yeah,” Harry says before Louis closes the front door, watching him drive off back down the road as he walks up toward his house.

— 

_We kiss sometimes, this boy and I. Sometimes I’ll be in the middle of a story and he’ll cut me off, and sometimes we won’t be doing anything and he’ll just, sort of lean over. Sometimes it’s in the back of his car and other times it’s in his room, or in the grocery store, somewhere between the bread aisle and the canned goods aisle._

_And it’s weird, maybe, because we’re friends. But sometimes when I look up I find The Boy staring at me, and he doesn’t look away; like he’s been staring for a while. And it’s sometimes, then, that I think maybe we’re not just friends._

— 

“Christ, H, you’ve got a lot of shit.”

Louis is presently sitting on Harry’s floor, staring at what looks to be a wall of boxes filled with an endless amount of things. With labels like _books_ , _older books?????_ , _clooooothes_ and Louis’ personal favourite _RANDOM FUCKING SHIT_. It’s a little difficult to know what’s what anymore, looking at them all.

“It just seems like a lot right now,” Harry mumbles somewhere behind a desk; the same one he’s been trying to take it apart for an hour and a half.

So far no such luck, and while Louis would offer to help, he’s rather enjoying watching Harry struggle with a screw driver. Every once in a while there’ll be a small noise, followed by a string of curse words, then a small stomp of a foot, which is, in Louis’ opinion, the best bit.

“No, I’m pretty sure you own more things than myself and all my sisters combined,” Louis comments, picking up a shirt up off the floor. “Don’t you already own a shirt like this?”

Harry glances up, forehead visible where he’s crouching as his brows furrow. “Don’t think so,” he says slowly, eyes glancing toward the boxes. “Could be wrong though.”

“Would take a big bet that you’re wrong,” Louis says, tossing the shirt down. “I’m gonna start moving these to your car.”

Harry grunts in response, which sounds like one of approval so Louis picks up a box, stacking another one on top of it before starting up the stairs. Gemma’s the only other one home, but she’d left about half an hour ago for lunch with friends, Anne and Dan out for dinner in the city, which leaves just the two of them. Which is fine, really, it’s not a big deal or anything.

It’s just been a week since they’ve kissed, is all. But it’s fine, Louis tells himself as he tries not to trip up the steps. Harry’s car keys are by the front door as he takes them, loading up the first few boxes into the trunk before heading back inside.

There’s still no luck with the desk as Louis takes two more boxes, already regretting his offer to help as he stuffs those into the trunk as well. With the rate things are going Harry’s going to have to make a few trips home to get all his stuff. 

He’s got a text from his mom asking if he’ll be home for dinner, but Louis doesn’t reply as he fits the last set of boxes into the trunk, because he’s fairly certain if he tried to fit anymore some part of the car would fall off, which. Wouldn’t be a great outcome, really.

So he heads back downstairs, admittedly accepting defeat as he falls back onto Harry’s bed, arms outstretched above his head. “Who did you say you were moving in with again?” Louis asks, eyes closed.

“A friend of mine from high school,” Harry says, laughing a little before asking, “given up have you?”

Louis flips him off wordlessly, though he does open one eye to see Harry finally successful in taking apart that goddamn desk, grinning proudly to himself. “I moved eight boxes I’ll have you know,” Louis snaps, pulling one of Harry’s jumpers out of an open box and pulling it over himself.

It’s warm, the sleeves going far past his hands as Louis pulls his knees to his chest. Harry doesn’t complain, doesn’t say anything as he lets himself drift off, telling himself that it’s only gonna be a few minutes as he lets his eyes close. 

There’s a gentle, warm hand on his back as Louis’ eyes finally open, wincing at the light in the bedroom as he puts a hand over his eyes. “What —”

“Hey,” Harry says gently, lips pressed against Louis’ ear. Or, what Louis is assuming to be Harry’s lips because they’re warm and soft and makes him whimper a little in response.

Harry laughs, gently, running his tongue along the shell of Louis’ ear as he makes a noise of unhappiness, muttering a quiet, “gross, Styles,” before batting his face away but he’s laughing a little too, soft and warm in Harry’s jumper. “How long was I asleep?” Louis asks, yawning.

“Hour and a half,” Harry says. Louis blinks, slowly sitting up. Sure enough, the window in Harry’s room shows nothing but darkness outside, the lamp in the far corner on — without a lampshade, making it seem brighter. “Hungry?”

“Fucking starving,” Louis says, accepting a slice of pizza Harry hands to him. 

“Should be all moved out by tomorrow, just gotta put a few more things into the car and I’ll be good,” Harry says, sitting on the floor now with a bottle of beer in front of him. 

Louis nods, still sleepy as he takes a bite of his food. His eyes feel heavy as he sighs. “You excited to move out?”

Harry’s quiet for a moment, shrugging as he leans back on one hand. “Kind of, I guess. I mean — it’s the next step, isn’t it? Getting my life together, all that,” he says, sounding a little rehearsed. 

“Yeah I mean, it makes sense,” Louis replies, unsure of what else to say.

They finish the pizza in mostly silence, music playing from Harry’s laptop which is perched on one of the last few boxes on the floor. It’s not like he’s moving far, he’ll actually be closer to Louis where he’s going, but it still feels weird, Louis thinks.

He tosses his napkin into the garbage, leaning back onto the bed as he looks toward Harry. Harry glances up, beer only half finished as Louis smiles, just a little.

“Come here then,” Louis says quietly, not wanting to have his voice a little above a whisper.

Harry’s face softens, moving slowly as he joins Louis up on his bed. He’s warm, he’s always fucking warm as he braces both his hands on either side of Louis’ head, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the side of his neck.

“Could’ve woken me up like this instead of licking me like a dog,” Louis says, Harry laughing against his skin.

But Harry’s too preoccupied with Louis’ collarbones to answer, nipping along the skin as Louis grips his hips gently. It’s been a little more than a week, and it’s becoming increasingly apparent to him how much he’s missed having Harry this close.

With the sudden decision to move anything else seemed unproductive to be doing, so Louis helped him pack, stayed in his room till weird hours of the morning getting things ready.

Harry’s working up along Louis’ jawline, slotting one leg between Louis’ legs and fuck, sure, okay, Louis thinks as he takes in a shaky breath. He gently puts one hand under Harry’s shirt, wanting to feel skin as he runs a thumb across Harry’s hip — which solicits a rather pleasing groan from him in response.

“Missed you,” Harry says softly, kissing Louis’ lips.

Harry’s weight is firm on top of him, pressing Louis’ body into the mattress as he kisses Harry back, immediately licking into his mouth in response. One of Harry’s thumbs runs along his jawline, the kiss becoming more and more desperate, making Louis feel a little light headed, head spinning.

“Missed you a bit,” Louis teases, but stops immediately when Harry starts to gently palm his already half hard dick through his jeans. “ _Fuck_ ,” Louis breathes out, a wave of heat surging through him in response.

Harry smiles, the absolute dick head, moving down to now mouth at the crotch of Louis’ jeans in response. “Like that?” Harry asks, Louis moaning in response as he brings a hand to Harry’s curls, gripping at them gently.

It’s not long before Louis’ jeans are pulled halfway down to his knees, Harry pressing open mouthed obscene kisses along his thighs, making Louis shiver beneath him. With another tug his boxers are down, Louis finally kicking off his pants and boxers off the end of the bed. Louis takes in a sharp breath when Harry takes ahold of the base of his cock, beginning to stuck lightly on the head, precome smeering against his chin.

“Harry, Jes- _us_ ,” Louis breathes, trying to steady himself enough so as to not rock into Harry’s mouth unexpectedly as he first puts his lips around Louis’ cock.

His head is spinning, his hands grip tighter at Harry’s curls though he doesn’t seem to mind one bit, instead continuing to take Louis’ cock further and further into his mouth. It’s a warm heat, the kind that makes Louis let out a high pitched noise in response because it just feels so fucking good. 

Harry’s got his hands braced on Louis’ thighs, pulling off for a moment as Louis tries to fucking breathe. He presses a few kisses along Louis’ hips before taking him in once more, bobbing his head a bit which nearly sends Louis completely over the edge.

He’s already so close to coming, has been since the moment Harry pinned him to the bed — been wanting him for a while, Louis thinks as he closes his eyes for a moment, tries to ground himself in something. But then Harry does something with his tongue and Louis is coming, eyes rolling back as he feels himself hit the back of Harry’s throat. 

While he’s coming down Harry kisses him again, lips warm and a bit of come on them but Louis doesn’t care, not when he’s like this. After a while Harry noses along his jawline, his breath warm against Louis’ neck, breathing heavily.

“Your turn then?” Louis asks, and Harry opens his mouth to protest but then Louis has a hand already on his cock of his jeans, and that works effectively.

Harry doesn’t take long, easy to get his pants off of as Louis starts to jerk him off, starting slow, Harry almost whimpering in response. Louis presses his mouth to Harry’s tattoo on his chest, one of the birds as he builds up his rhythm, beginning to pull harder as Harry’s mouth goes slack in response. 

When he comes a few minutes later, Louis’ thumb on the end of his cock finally sending him over Harry makes a low, deep sound in response. A mixture between a moan and something else, Louis thinks as he kisses his forehead lightly.

He leaves the bedroom for a moment, taking a flannel in the bathroom beside Harry’s room and wetting it in the sink before coming back inside. He cleans them both up, music still quietly playing in the background as he does.

“So,” Harry starts a few minutes later, looking at Louis as they’re laying side by side in his bed.

“So,” Louis echos, fingers tangled with Harry’s against the mattress. “That was nice.”

Harry rolls his eyes, as if he’d been expecting his. “Nice? That’s it?”

Louis hums in response, pressing a kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth. “A bit more than nice,” he admits.

Harry grins. “That’s better,” he says, wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist and pulling him closer.

—

Harry invites Louis over to his new flat after school on Friday. He’d made a point of saying after school in his text message, apparently worried Louis would skip school to see it. Which Louis never would, that would be absurd.

He tells Zayn and Niall he’ll text them when they can meet up in Zayn’s car, though Niall says he could skip out this week, all things considered. Louis had ignored him, instead waving goodbye to them before heading out into the parking lot.

It takes one bus to get to Harry’s place, his mom needing the car for work as he gets off at his stop. With one buzz to room two Harry lets him in, Louis taking the stairs up to his door.

“Hi,” Harry greets upon opening the door. “Come in.”

Louis nods, stepping inside and trying not to let himself feel out of place as he kicks off his shoes. They’re worn out, his vans, as he puts them beside Harry’s worn out boots. He leaves his coat and bag by the front door, hanging on small hooks Harry had made a point of showing him. Apparently he’d put them up himself, which Louis isn’t quite sure he believes or not.

“Surprisingly clean,” Louis comments, stepping inside the small kitchen.

Harry looks somehow bigger in this space, like he’s almost going to overtake all of it as he hunches over a kettle. Louis smirks, amused, watching him reach for some mugs. “I’ll have you know I’m an excellent cleaner,” Harry says, trying to sound offended.

“That’s not true,” comes another voice, one Louis doesn’t know.

He turns, finding a taller man with a buzz cut and a sweater and track pants grinning at Harry, then to Louis. “Liam,” he introduces.

“So you’re the one stuck living with Harry?” Louis asks. “I feel sorry for you, then.”

Liam laughs, setting down his water bottle on the small table. “Could be worse,” he says simply.

“Could it?” Louis asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Well, not really,” Liam says.

“Enough,” Harry says, back to them as Louis smiles widely.

“I have to go out for a bit but, it was nice meeting you Louis. Heard a lot about you,” Liam says, clasping his shoulder briefly. “Better than the company Harry had before.”

Louis blinks, confused, but says, “yeah same, mate, I’ll see you around.”

Harry doesn’t say anything for a while after Liam leaves, the sound of the door closing the last thing Louis hears. 

“The company you had before?” he asks finally.

Harry sighs, running a hand through his hair as he finally turns back to face Louis. He looks oddly uncomfortable then, something Louis isn’t used to seeing on his face. “It’s just — it’s nothing, really. Just a few friends I had before I moved back home.”

“Sure,” Louis says, not wanting to make a big deal out of it, because Harry clearly doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it. “How’s the tea coming?”

After some shitty take out, a few more mugs of tea and one beer later, him and Harry are sitting in the small living room. Louis is pressed up against Harry’s side, knees to his chest where they’re watching a movie he can’t remember the name of. All he can really remember is the gentle shapes Harry is lightly pressing into his calf, probably not even realizing the way his finger is moving against Louis in a weirdly soothing, constant motion.

“Should go meet Niall and Zayn soon,” Louis says.

Harry scrunches up his face in response. “Or, you could stay here instead,” he says.

Louis smiles, feeling lazy and heavy as he presses a kiss to Harry’s shoulder. “As much as I would love to, it’s tradition.”

“I suppose so,” Harry says, moving a bit of Louis’ fringe from his forehead. 

He’s pouting, and Louis doesn’t want to move, but he promised them he’d meet them at his place in half an hour. “I’m seeing you on Sunday anyway,” he reminds Harry, poking a gentle finger into his chest.

“Alright, well —” Harry pauses, leaning down to press a quick, chaste kiss to Louis’ lips that still makes his head spin, just a bit. “I’ll text you, or something.”

“Sure,” Louis says, ruffling a bit of his hair before standing once more. When he looks back, door open and bag over his shoulder, Harry’s already asleep.

—

“So when are you gonna move in with him?” Niall asks later that night, glancing back to Louis in the backseat.

They’d gotten pizza this time, the box nearly finished as Louis chews on the last few bites of his crust. “I’m not going to,” he says pointedly, kicking at Niall’s shoulder.

“Why? You said his flatmate was cool,” Zayn adds, idly scrolling through his phone.

“He _is_ cool,” Louis replies in protest. “I just, I don’t know. It would be weird, wouldn’t it?”

Niall and Zayn exchange looks before nodding, Louis assumes in agreement. He doesn’t say anything else and they don’t push the subject, thankfully.

Because it would be weird, Louis had decided. Because Harry’s older and Louis still doesn’t know what they are, not really. Neither of them have brought it up and Louis suspects there’s a reason behind it, so he’s never said anything about them. 

Niall starts talking about football practice the other day, Louis leaning back in his seat as he listens, accepting a joint Zayn hands him from the driver’s seat.

—

_He wants to go back to school, The Boy. He’d never gone to uni, didn’t ever want to because he didn’t know what to study, but now he wants to go back. Whenever he brings it up he starts talking more animatedly than he has for a long time, usually when he talk about work or anything else it’s in his usual slow, mundane tone I’ve found myself growing accustom to._

_Says he maybe wants to study graphic design, or maybe art, open his own art gallery one day. There’s so many dreams and ideas in this one boy it’s hard to keep track of them all, truthfully._

_The other day he’d fallen asleep, looking peacefully content where he’d folded himself up onto his couch. It smells a bit like stale beer and crisps, the couch does, but I never tell him that. Instead I’d found some of his uni brochures, and opened them. Some parts had been highlighted, others crossed out with a big bold X, hard to decipher what means what._

_But he has dreams, and he has goals, which is big, at any rate, I think._

_I just hope, or a small part of me does, that I’m not gonna hold him back._

—

“What about accounting?”

Louis snorts into his drink, looking up at Harry across the small coffee table in his living room. Harry stares at him, looking slightly offended. “What?”

“Do you know how hellishly boring accounting is?” Louis asks, “my dad was an accountant. I’m pretty sure that’s what drove him pack his bags and leave.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Louis soon realizes that’s because he’s never brought up his dad before now. Harry looks at him again, unsure, but Louis shakes his head, brushes it off. “It’s fine, honestly, I’m just saying. Accounting isn’t fun.”

Harry smiles, a little, a bit of the tension now lifted as Louis takes another sip of his drink. “Do you have any idea what you wanna study?”

The floor and table is littered with brochures and packets, all saying the generic _Welcome to such and such University! We cannot wait to have you!_ in all the same font, making Louis’ stomach clench a little each time he reads them. Mostly because soon it’ll be him having to look through these, not just Harry.

“Not a fucking clue,” Harry says, somewhat remorseful. Louis shifts, tucking his legs underneath one another as he picks up another brochure, pages glossy as he runs a finger over it.

“You should look into art though,” Louis says, “with like — those sketches in your room, and stuff. They’re good.”

There isn’t much of Harry’s art work, just a thing or two pinned to the wall that Louis has noticed a few times. But, they’re still good, regardless. “Maybe,” Harry finally says slowly, unsure.

Liam’s gone out with a few friends, the Saturday night going by slowly as Louis sighs, tired. Harry’s been weirdly quiet most of the night, shuffling about the flat and making tea, continually asking Louis if he wants anything to eat. Not that it’s unlike Harry to ask him that, but. It’s different, something’s off.

But Louis doesn’t ask. Isn’t sure how he would ask, really.

“You work tomorrow?” he instead chooses to ask Harry a little while later, brochures now an even bigger mess on the floor in front of him.

“No,” Harry says, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket. “I’m um — going to visit a friend, actually. In London. So I’m not going to be around for a few days.”

Louis looks up at him, blinking. He presses his lips together. “That’ll be good, yeah?”

Harry pauses, a weirdly sad sort of smile on his face. “I guess, sure. Haven’t seen them in a while, so.”

“Right,” Louis says, clearing his throat.

Harry doesn’t expand and Louis doesn’t ask anything else, instead bringing his cup to the kitchen and setting it in the sink. He doesn’t overthink, doesn’t let himself as he walks back into the living room, tired as he curls at Harry’s side once more.

They keep watching television, a marathon of Seinfield as Harry laughs in his ears at whatever dumb joke Louis makes, his warmth comfortable where he’s got an arm wrapped around Louis’ shoulders.

And for now, they’re okay, Louis thinks.

—

Harry doesn’t text for almost a week. And it shouldn’t bother Louis, shouldn’t affect him in any way. But it does, and he hates himself for it. 

“I’m sure he’s just busy,” Zayn assured him after four days of hearing nothing from him. “You said he was busy with work and school applications, right?”

Louis wanted to argue that even if he’s working, he still texts, but he doesn’t. Instead he’d forced a smile and gone to class.

Which doesn’t explain why he’s in front of the store Harry works at, hands shoved in his pockets and shivering in the winter air. He pushes open the door, stepping inside and into the warmth.

There’s a lady at the counter, the tall man Louis recognizes from a few weeks ago talking to her for a few moments as Louis starts looking at cd’s. The small bell goes off at the front door, the lady leaving as the man speaks up.

“Can I help you?”

Louis turns, seeing the man — Nick, he remembers Harry telling him — looking at him curiously. “I’m um,” he starts, feeling about as stupid as he figured he would, “looking for Harry?”

Nick pauses, something similar to a frown coming across his features. He taps his fingers against the countertop in a steady beat. “He’s not feeling well,” he says finally.

Louis’ brows furrow. “Is he like, sick?”

“Something like that yeah,” Nick answers. “It’s Louis, right?”

Louis nods, taking in a deep breath. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

Nick shakes his head. “Hard to say. But he promised he’d be back by next week,” he answers.

All of this has been wildly unhelpful, Louis thinks as he swallows. It’s strange, being in here without Harry. Since they’ve been hanging out he’s only come back a handful of times, but still. Feels foreign now, standing here alone.

“Right, well. Thanks,” Louis says, starting toward the door.

“He’ll come around,” Nick says, like he somehow knows. 

Louis doesn’t say anything, instead giving a small wave before he steps back outside, back toward his car.

—

Finally, after a week and a half, he asks Gemma.

He finds her by her locker before fourth period, looking through her books as Louis approaches her. She gives him a small smile before turning back to what looks to be an Algebra book. “Can I help you, Louis?”

Louis pauses, ignoring the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. “Is Harry okay?”

Gemma stops where she’s putting her textbook into her already over stuffed bag. “What do you mean? He talks to you more than he talks to me these days, it seems.”

“Evidently not,” Louis says, “he hasn’t texted or called in almost two weeks.”

A knowing sort of look comes over Gemma’s face then, like something’s clicked in her head. Louis kicks at the floor awkwardly with the toe of his shoe. “Just —” Gemma starts, zipping up her bag. “Give him some time, yeah? He gets like this sometimes.”

Louis wants to ask more questions, wants to know what the fuck she’s talking about but doesn’t. “Sure right, time,” he instead replies.

Gemma gives his arm a gentle squeeze, smiling a little. “I promise. He’ll come around.”

And with that she’s off, leaving Louis to walk himself to English as he takes his usual seat in the back of the class just before the bell goes off.

Mr. Russell slowly stands, chalk in hand as he paces in front of his desk. “As you know, I asked you to submit a page’s worth of your short stories to me, to review,” he pauses, because he always fucking pauses in his talks and Louis fucking hates it. It agitates him, gets under his skin for whatever reason he doesn’t know. “And I have one here that I thought I’d share with you all, just to give you a taste of the level of writing I expect from all of you.”

Louis smirks, sinking lower in his seat. Everyone’s quiet, the only sound of Mr. Russell clearing his throat and picking up a piece of paper.

“‘ _The Boy has this stupid, annoying thing he does with his right leg. We could be anywhere, doing anything, and he always bounces his leg in this constant, steady rhythm. And no matter how much I beg and plead, he doesn’t stop, doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, I don’t think. Half the time I’ll tell him he’ll look at me before remembering, apologizing and stop it for a few minutes, at least._

_He did in a movie the other weekend, when we’d gone. But the movie was shit and I hated it, so it gave me something to focus on. Apparently his mom teases him that it’s all his pent up energy, something I agree with, though whenever I tell him that he pouts like a incessant one year old, telling me that I should take his side, if anything._

_If anything, he always leaves me guessing if he’s one or twenty-one._

_“‘Before my dad left, my mom would tell me that despite all his shortcomings, she still loved him. That regardless of his weird little quirks and the small, annoying things he does, she knew he was the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Grow old with, get wrinkles with, all that fucking cheesy crap people say these days. And I would believe her, had he not packed up his bags and left when I was ten, but now I’m not so sure._

_Either way, even if The Boy does bounce his knee every day for the rest of his living days, I would be so fucking annoyed — and yet if he stopped doing it, I know I’d miss it, which is fucking ridiculous._

_But it’s gotten me thinking, what if I’m in love with The Boy? A dumb, youthful idiotic thought? Probably. But could it be true? Probably. And does that fucking terrify me?_

_You’re absolutely right it does._ ’”

Louis freezes in his seat, unsure if he’s breathing or not as his words are being read aloud to the class, his entire fucking english class sitting there, listening. It’s strange, because he suddenly feels bare — like he’s sitting in his seat fucking naked, but no one seems to notice.

Mr. Russell sets down the paper, one arm balanced on the leg he’s got propped up on the desk in front of him. “It’s maybe more so a narrative than a story, but I like it. It’s creative, it’s honest, and it’s something that I think we can all learn from,” he starts, only briefly glancing at Louis in the large room full of students. 

“So take this assignment seriously, okay? You might be surprised at what you find yourself writing,” Mr. Russell says slowly, giving Louis a pointed look before starting in on Romeo and Juliet.

—

Harry calls him late Friday night. Louis is sprawled out on his bed, having just gotten in from spending the evening in Zayn’s car, still high and aimlessly looking through a magazine.

“Hello?” he answers.

“ _Louis? Hi._ ” 

The first thing Louis feels is angry, really fucking angry as he slowly sits up. “Hey,” he says.

“ _Nick said you were looking for me_ ,” Harry starts, “ _I stayed with my friend in London a little longer than I’d intended, so that’s why I haven’t — texted, or anything._ ”

“Sure yeah,” Louis says, sounding rather harsh as he rubs his temples. “Would’ve been nice to know you were alive or something, though.”

“ _I know — I’m sorry, I am I just — get so caught up when I’m there, you know?_ ”

“No, I don’t know,” Louis answers flatly.

“ _You can be mad at me, I’d be mad at me. I just needed a few days to myself,_ ” Harry says.

“Good. Because I am fucking mad,” Louis says.

There’s a bit of shuffling on the other end, Liam’s voice faintly in the background until, “ _what are you doing tomorrow night?_ ”

“Going to a party at Jade’s house,” Louis says.

“ _I’m free if you wanna hangout after?_ ” Harry suggests finally.

“I’ll let you know maybe,” Louis says. “Should go though. Tired.”

“‘ _Course, yeah,_ ” Harry says. “ _Bye, Lou._ ”

“Bye, Harry.”

— 

His only objective at this party is to get really, really, really drunk. And so far he’s succeeding, if he does say so himself.

The whole plan was get really drunk, and don’t think about Harry. He’s done the first half, though the second is proving to be more difficult. Presently he’s just lost a beer pong tournament against John Wells from his History class, who’s looking rather smug about it from across the table. Louis rolls his eyes, pushing himself away from the table.

Zayn and Niall are in the kitchen, talking to one another as Louis puts an arm around Niall’s shoulders. “You alright?” Niall asks, poking his cheek lightly.

Louis shakes his head. “Feel sick,” he mumbles.

“Let’s get you to lie down,” Zayn suggests, the three of them stumbling toward an empty couch.

Louis practically crawls onto it, putting his head down onto a pillow feeling sick and sorry for himself all at once. Niall and Zayn tell him they’re gonna go get him some water as Louis pulls out his phone, not even bothering stopping himself as he dials a number.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Harry?” Louis asks, closing his eyes.

“ _Louis? Are you okay?_ ”

“Drank too much I think,” Louis says slowly.

“ _Do you want me to come get you?_ ”

“Please.”

“ _Okay. I dropped Gemma off a while ago so I’ll be there soon, alright?_ ”

“Alright,” Louis mumbles, hanging up his phone.

One glass of water later Harry’s there, walking through the doorway and looking awfully put together, Louis thinks as he shakes his head. They find Niall and Zayn on their way out, Louis telling them he’ll call them together as Harry carefully helps him into his car.

Louis doesn’t say anything as they drive, too drunk and too tired to trust himself to speak when they pull up in front of Harry’s flat. He doesn’t want to be home, not now, he thinks as they walk into the flat. Liam’s already in bed, Harry helping him across the floor and onto the couch in the living room.

Harry gets him a blanket and a glass of water, not so subtly putting a bucket beside Louis in case he ‘needs to use it’ as Harry had so delicately put it. Louis murmurs a thanks into the pillow, already half asleep as he feels the gentle press of Harry’s lips to his head. “I’ll see you in the morning,” he tells Louis gently before walking off down the hallway, his bedroom door closing.

And with the sound of the street below and nothing else, Louis lets himself sleep.

—

He wakes up to the smell of eggs. Louis sits up, rubbing his eyes as he immediately regrets it — wincing at the headache pounding in his head. He slumps back onto the couch, pulling the blanket over his head as he hears a small laugh from across the room.

“Morning sunshine,” comes Harry’s morning voice, rough and raspy as Louis moans.

“Shut up,” he snaps, not moving his head from underneath the blanket. It’s warm under here, and without any harsh lighting to make his headache worse, if that were at all possible.

“Is that any way to treat the person who made you breakfast?” Harry asks.

Louis slowly moves the blanket, finding Harry putting a plate of food on the table beside the couch. He’s a saint, Louis thinks briefly before taking a bite, thankful for the aspirin and coffee also waiting for him there.

It’s a little awkward, mostly because Louis is still mad and forcing himself not to talk. But Harry doesn’t seem to mind, continuing to shuffle about the kitchen, humming to himself occasionally while doing so.

“How are you feeling?” he asks sometime later, after Louis’ eaten and curled up back on the couch.

Louis shrugs, putting his now finished mug of coffee beside him on the floor. “Fine I guess,” he says.

Harry nods slowly. “I um — wanted to tell you something,” he starts.

Louis stares at him, waiting. “I don’t. Think I’m gonna go to school quite yet.”

He has to be hearing things, really. Not go to school? After he’d spent hours on those applications? Trying to figure out where to go? Louis’ brows furrow. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

Harry seems to recoil a bit at his response, like he hadn’t been expecting that. “Louis —” 

“No, don’t you 'Louis' me,” he starts, shaking his head. “Not after everything you’ve done, Harry, I mean for God’s sake you’ve filled out all the applications you need —”

“I’m just not ready yet,” Harry argues, his tone a little more sharp as he talks.

“You keep telling yourself that then you’re never gonna be ready,” Louis snaps, agitated. His head is starting to hurt again, his entire body exhausted as he forces himself to stand up.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.

“Leaving,” Louis says firmly, gathering what few things he’d brought with him. 

“What, because I’m not going to school?” 

“I don’t understand why you can’t just go,” Louis says, turning to face him now. Harry’s watching him, jaw set but Louis doesn’t waver. 

“It’s complicated,” Harry says finally, arms crossed over his chest defensively.

“Everything’s fucking complicated, Harry, that’s how life fucking works,” Louis replies.

He’s got his phone and his coat, his wallet already in the back pocket of his jeans as he walks toward the door. “You just don’t get it do you?”

Louis scoffs, offended. “Apparently not.”

“Of course not, you’re in fucking high school,” Harry says coldly.

Louis stands in the doorway a moment, coat not even fully on and bag halfway up his arm, waiting for something, not even sure what. But it never comes, and Louis leaves the door open as he walks down the stairwell and out onto the street, back home.

—

_The Boy, I think, is lost. Without a map or compass, if you will. Like one of those big ships sailing the big, wide open sea with no destination. It’s a beautiful ship, lovely to look at — very good at what she does. But just lost, is all. And it makes you wonder, how does someone with that much potential get so lost?_

_I don’t know a lot about ships, to be honest. Only ever been on one once with my father when I was six for a father son fishing weekend, which didn’t go that well, all we got was one fish and I cried so much he had to release it back into the water. But, when I look into The Boy’s eyes — that’s what I see. A wide, expansive sea of water, and nowhere to go._

_Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t think I am. Everytime I look at him it’s becoming more and more clear to me; when he’s standing in front of me — eyes wide and angry, or when he’s curled up focused on whatever it is he’s doing, that he’s just lost. How do you make someone un lost? How do you help someone find their way when they don’t want to find it?_

_I might be in over my head. I’m not even nineteen yet, so maybe this is out of my realm. But it’s not like because of my age I lack those things that someone would need to find their way. I can be still be a compass without knowing my proper way either._

_The Boy was sketching the other day, out on the balcony of his flat. I was making tea, because all we fucking drink is tea if it isn’t beer, and he was just there. It was in the morning sometime, the sun really fucking bright as he’d sat, hunched over a small table. He doesn’t sketch often, but when he does, it’s on those days he carries his feet a little heavier, when everything seems to be pulling him down. He thinks I don’t notice, but I do._

_Anyway, he was sketching, and I was watching him. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, not that he usually does, because he likes to show off his tattoo’s. One day he told me that if he was going to get a tattoo on his ass it would mean that he wouldn’t have to wear pants all day, or something as ridiculous like that, I can’t remember._

_So there he was, pencil in hand and curls a mess on his head; but he looked content there, I realized after a while. I can’t fucking draw to save my life, but The Boy loves it._

_He doesn’t save his drawings, not usually. There’s a handful of them hanging on his wall, pinned up crooked in random places around his room. I wish he’d keep more of them, to be honest, but I never tell him that._

_And that particular day, after he’d finished drawing, he’d given it to me. It was a picture of a bird, a slightly larger bird — with it’s tail crossed behind itself. Almost matching these two birds he has on his chest but, not quite. I have it now, folded up beside my bed. I haven’t done anything with it, haven’t decided what to do with it quite yet. But I like to think that in this sea that The Boy has found himself in, that I can somehow, maybe, help him find his way._

_If he’ll ever let me._

— 

Louis is restless. He can’t fucking focus on anything, too stressed to stay on any given task for more than a few minutes without moving to the next thing on his list.

He’s hardly spoken to Harry, a few texts here and there but mostly avoiding him. And rightfully so, Louis tells himself. But he supposes the unfortunate part about avoiding Harry is how much he misses him, though in hindsight Louis should’ve seen that coming.

His laptop is open, half past nine on a Wednesday night and his short story nowhere close to being done. Louis is on the verge of ripping out his hair, sipping on his tea as he taps his fingers uselessly on the edge of his desk. Beside him, his phone buzzes.

_Can we talk?_

It’s Harry. Louis clicks his tongue, considering. He’s done his history essay for tomorrow by some miracle, all he needs to really do is get his short story done by the end of this week so he can hand it in next week. _sure. when?_ he sends back.

_I can be there in ten._

_alright_

He leaves his homework on his desk, taking a jacket and his phone as he makes his way out his bedroom door. The girls are already asleep, his mum fallen asleep in front of the television, not waking up as he opens the front door. It’s fucking cold, he soon realizes, digging a cigarette from his pocket.

It’s about half finished when Harry pulls up, Louis tossing whatever is left of it into the snow as he opens the front door. Thankfully it’s warm as he sits down, putting his hands immediately in front of the vents.

“Hi,” Harry says.

Louis chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Hey,” he settles on saying.

“Louis, I’m —” Harry pauses, gripping his steering wheel. But he doesn’t drive. They sit in the car, unmoving. “I’m sorry.”

It’s a real, sincere apology. Something Louis hasn’t heard in a really fucking long time, he thinks to himself. His fingers are starting to warm a little in front of the vent, not saying anything for a few moments.

Harry doesn’t push him, sitting still in the driver’s seat, just waiting. “I’m sorry, too.”

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” Harry starts. “You being in high school was a low blow, I shouldn’t have fucking used that. I knew better. I just, got defensive, I guess. Didn’t know what else to say.”

Louis finally looks at him, his head leaning up against the glass of his window. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, either.”

“You were just looking out for me,” Harry says.

And, he’s not wrong. Louis reaches out, one of his hands taking Harry’s from where its gripped onto the steering wheel. “We both fucked up,” Louis says, shrugging. “It happens.”

Harry smiles, just a little, pressing a quick kiss to the palm of Louis’ hand. “What are you doing on Saturday?” he asks.

“I’m glad you asked, actually, because I am pretty booked up on Saturday. Got a lot of things to do,” Louis says.

Harry smirks, rolling his eyes. “Like what things?”

“Well for one, finally finish watching prison break. And for two, most likely nap the rest of the day, so. Very important things, Styles,” Louis replies, very serious.

“Alright, but. You could always come to mine,” Harry suggests, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that reminds Louis of a mischievous three year old. Which, Harry is.

“I’ll see what I can work out,” Louis says, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“Bye, Louis,” Harry says as he closes the driver’s door, waving to him one last time before stepping back inside.

—

Him and Zayn go to Niall’s football match on Friday, huddled up on the stands of the indoor arena. 

“Fucking cold,” Louis mutters, pulling his jacket closer.

“Told you to wear a coat,” Zayn says knowingly.

Louis rolls his eyes, kicking at his foot briefly as he glances to the scoreboard. They’re down one, and he can tell by the way Niall’s continually pacing in front of the goal that he’s frustrated. Louis can relate. Louis can entirely relate.

“Are you gonna come over on Saturday? With Niall?” Zayn asks, eyes focused on the field.

“I um, can’t,” Louis says. Zayn gives him a look. “I told Harry I’d hang out with him.”

Zayn pauses, still not looking at Louis. It’s always a bad sign, that reaction from Zayn. Means he’s thinking something Louis most definitely doesn’t want to hear. “Thought you guys weren’t hanging out as much anymore?”

“We talked, I don’t know, it’s fine now,” Louis says, waving his hand to show it’s nothing to worry about.

“You were pretty pissed at him for a while there,” Zayn comments.

The other team shoots, but Niall thankfully blocks it, yelling some colourful language while he stomps the turf. Louis nearly laughs into his gloved hand.

“Yeah but, it’s fine. We talked it over, he apologized, nothing to worry about, see?” Louis says.

Zayn takes a sip of whatever warm beverage he has. Louis wishes he’d gotten a warm beverage. Or a fucking space heater. 

“Alright, well. If you’re sure,” he trails off.

Louis gives him a look. “Stop with that, you sound like my mum,” he scolds.

“I’m just making sure you know what you’re doing,” Zayn replies.

“I do know, thank you,” Louis huffs, shifting closer toward him. “Now come closer, I’m fucking freezing.”

“Not too close, you know how jealous Niall gets,” Zayn warns, but he’s laughing as Louis shakes his head, thankful for the bit of blanket Zayn puts onto his lap, a bit of warmth being shared between them now.

—

They’re in Harry’s room, watching old movies and sitting on his bed with a bowl between them. Harry’s lips are sweet, Louis has come to realize after a few kisses, his body warm all over as he leans back against the pillows.

Neither of them are watching the movie, but neither of them really seem to care. So far Louis has been able to get Harry’s shirt off, tracing along the tattoo’s across his skin silently, watching his move along the goosebumps now coming along his chest at his touch. There’s a butterfly, that’s new, Louis had found just a few minutes ago. Harry had shrugged, telling him that it’s nothing, just a butterfly. Which Louis thinks is a damn lie, but anyway.

He traces the birds last, his favourite, Harry making a noise of content from beside him as he does. Liam’s working the night shift, so it’s just the two of them here as Louis turns his head, getting a better look at Harry.

“I think,” Louis starts, tapping a finger against Harry’s hip. “That we should get ice cream.”

Harry laughs, looking at Louis now. “You always want ice cream,” he says.

Louis frowns. “Is that bad?” he asks.

“Not really, no. But there’s still some mint chocolate chip you bought last weekend in the freezer,” Harry tells him, nodding.

But Louis doesn’t move, far too warm and far too comfortable to do anything. So he stays, fingers intertwined with Harry’s across his chest. 

“You alright?” Louis finally asks, Harry being uncommonly quiet all night.

Harry shifts, a little, his gaze staying on the small television. “I um, need to tell you something.”

Louis pauses. “Last time you said that it didn’t end well,” he says, mostly teasing. But Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even smile.

“It’s about my friend, the one I visited back in London,” Harry says slowly.

Louis shifts, using a hand to prop his head up on the pillow. “So…”

Harry looks uncomfortable, now having to force himself to look at Louis. “You know that bad company Liam talked about the other day?” he asks. Louis nods. “Well I um — I went to visit an old friend of mine, Derek? We —” he fiddles with the sleeve of his jumper, Louis patiently waiting for him to continue. He ignores the sense of panic in his chest, taking in a deep breath. “We dated? For like, two years. It wasn’t anything official, I guess, but we were together for a while, anyway.”

Louis doesn’t say anything; ignores the lump in his throat. Harry continues, “and he’s got this new job, and I told him I’d go see his flat and whenever I see him, we —” Harry pauses again, something reminiscent to Mr. Russell that isn’t sitting well with Louis. Because whatever it is Harry’s going to say, Louis has a feeling he doesn’t want to hear it. “We kind, of hook up? Or something like that. But it’s not like, we’re anything, I mean I told him when I left that we couldn’t do that anymore.”

He looks at Louis, like he expects him to say something. But Louis just pushes himself up off the bed, starting to look for his coat. “Louis, are you going to say something —”

“Yeah, I’m gonna say something,” Louis cuts him off, angry. “Fuck you.”

Harry blinks, but follows Louis out into the hallway. “I was just trying to tell you —”

“Tell me what? That you’re fucking two people at once?” Louis says firmly, finding his phone on the small table in the living room. “Well, then I’m gonna say it again — fuck you.”

“I’m being honest here, I don’t understand why you’re getting so pissed,” Harry says.

Louis laughs, putting one arm through the sleeve of his coat. “I’m not just some play thing, Harry, for fuck’s sake you can’t just expect me to be okay with this? That you’re still seeing that Derek whoever the fuck he is, when we’ve been hanging out?”

“You never said we were — I never knew how you felt —”

“You fucking knew how I felt, Harry, don’t be a fucking idiot right now,” Louis spits.

“Derek and I aren’t — I’m not going to see him anymore,” Harry argues, following Louis to the door.

It feels familiar somehow, standing here. It’s not a familiarity Louis likes, he thinks to himself.

“What, because of me?” Louis asks.

Harry nods, once. He looks small, standing there, arms at his side and watching Louis helplessly. And he could stay, so easily step back into Harry’s arms and forget all of this, knows how much he wants that still now, standing in the doorway.

“Well. Tell Derek I say hi,” Louis says before closing the door, one final time before heading back down to his car.

— 

_How do you tell yourself to stop loving someone? Is there an internal switch I’m not aware of? One that you find and say to yourself, ‘oh look, an easy solution to no longer loving this person’ and you’re free from their grasp?_

_I miss The Boy. I miss him a fucking lot, actually. I find myself checking my phone, even though there’s no texts from him. I find myself looking at things that he’d find funny, taking a picture of them to show him later, but then I realize. There won’t be a later._

_Maybe I should’ve listened. Maybe I should’ve stayed, and heard him out. But I think the part of me that wanted to stay is also that part of me that still, after all these years, thinks my dad is coming back. It’s that weirdly hopeful part of me I can’t seem to get rid of, no matter how much I try, no matter how many people let me down. And I fucking hate that part of myself._

_I miss how he’d smell in the mornings, like bed sheets and a bit of his shampoo, eyes puffy and limbs somehow feeling longer than usual. I miss how he’d know when something was wrong with me, before I even said a word, he’d just know. I miss how sometimes, if he was concentrating hard enough, he’d put a finger to the corner of his mouth for some reason I don’t think I’ll ever really understand._

_I try to make myself forget these things, for The Boy, but he keeps coming back. Like a fucking boomerang, or something, straight for my heart._

_It’s strange to me, now, that I didn’t realize how much I love him until he was gone._

—

His lowest mark this term is a C, in geography, but who the fuck cares about geography anyway, Louis tells himself.

But other than that, he does pretty fucking well, if he’s honest with himself. 

“Louis?”

He’s looking at his marks, bag almost packed when he hears a voice. He turns, seeing Mr. Russell a few feet from his locker.

“Sir?” Louis asks, confused.

“I wanted to run something by you,” he starts. “I don’t know if you’ve heard of the Young Writers Short Story contest happening in our city?”

Louis shakes his head. “Well, I submitted your story to it,” Mr. Russell says. Louis’ eyes widen as he blinks. “And you got runner up. Second place.”

He wants to swear, but decides that wouldn’t be appropriate as he runs a hand through his hair. “You submitted my story?” he asks finally.

“I figured you wouldn’t, or you’d forget, maybe, so I did it. Now, if you’re mad you can say so and I’ll take it out, remove it and you don’t have to worry about it anymore,” Mr. Russell explains.

“Runner up?” Louis repeats, everything finally catching up to him.

“Runner up,” Mr. Russell confirms. “And because of that, you’re invited to accept your reward and read a bit of your piece, if you’d like.”

“I’ll — sure, yeah, I’ll be there,” Louis says.

Mr. Russell smiles, seeming at least a little surprised, if anything. “Saturday, ten thirty in the morning at the Tessbrook Library,” he says.

Louis nods. “I’ll be there,” he promises.

—

“Are you sure about this?”

Zayn’s sitting beside him in the small shop, Niall on his side where they’re looking at Louis. Louis glances at them where he’s staring at a magazine in his lap, not really paying much attention to it.

“‘Course I’m sure,” Louis says, trying to mask his nerves. 

“It really fucking hurts,” Niall says, leaning forward to get a good look at Louis.

Louis rolls his eyes. “How would you know, Niall, you’ve never even gotten one.”

Zayn snorts, looking at the magazine in his own lap as Niall flips him off. It’s about ten more minutes until they’re taken to a small room in the back. Louis gets into the chair, the man beside him moving around a bit as Niall and Zayn take a seat in the chairs beside him.

Louis unfolds the paper with his design on it, the man, Aiden, handing him the stencil made up for him. He takes it, staring at it for a moment. “Looks good,” Louis says finally, nodding.

“Where do you want it then?” Aiden asks, “still on your forearm?”

“Yeah just here —” Louis points, just before his wrist. Aiden nods, picking up what looks like a gigantic fucking needle as Louis tells himself to breathe, that he’s gonna be fine.

It fucking hurts, Louis letting the pain go to his toes as he moves them in his shoes, trying to focus on something else. Niall’s talking to Zayn about something, face animated where he’s making odd shapes with his hands, Zayn completely enthralled by whatever it is as Louis exhales through his nose. 

For just a moment, he imagines what it would be like if Harry was here. He’d no doubt be sitting in that chair, body too big for it as he watched Louis. Probably tell him stupid jokes, or something, to keep his mind occupied. Or maybe sing whatever song’s been stuck in his head all day, just so it would be stuck in Louis’ head then for the rest of the day as well.

But it’s just him, just him Niall and Zayn where they’re sitting in this small, closed off room. His arm fucking hurts but Louis bites his lower lip, tries to steady himself in that as best he can. 

Eventually, a while later with his arm wrapped up and ready to be sent on his way, Louis stares at it for a moment. “How’s it?” Zayn asks, gently taking his wrist.

Louis shrugs. “Fine I guess,” he says, “fucking hurts, though.”

Zayn smiles a little, knowingly. “Gonna hurt like that for a while,” he says. “It’s good though.”

Louis follows them back out to Zayn’s car, the air warmer now in the spring months as he gets into the back seat, Niall insistent on getting the front. He wants to send Harry a picture of it, show him what he’d gotten done but he doesn’t, instead doing up his seatbelt and arguing every song Niall deems worthy enough to play on the car radio as they drive off down the road.

—

“Next we have runner up Louis Tomlinson reading us a section from his short story entitled The Boy.”

The announcer looks at him as Louis stands from the small chair he’s been sitting on on the small platform, overlooking the small crowd that’s gathered in the library. Niall and Zayn are in the back, giving him a thumbs up. Mr. Russell is in the second row, giving Louis a firm nod as he steps up toward the small podium.

“‘ _I’ve always wanted a tattoo. Ever since I was about ten, I’ve wanted one on my body, though I don’t really know why. For a while I was considering getting an I love mom one across my chest, but that dream soon faded when I turned fourteen. I debated getting my name across my ass, but I thought maybe that was a bit redundant._

_One of the first times I hung out with The Boy, he took me while he went to get a tattoo. It was two birds, on his chest, one bigger than the other. I never told him this but sometimes I liked to pretend we were those birds, I was the smaller one, but still. I don’t think about it often now, but I did a fair bit when we were hanging out a lot._

_He’s got a lot of tattoos, The Boy. A big butterfly on his chest, a ship on his arm, two hands shaking on the back of his arm — and a few more I don’t quite understand, never had the time to ask him about. There’s another one I liked, the words Might as well across his hip, small but enough for my thumb to run over it. He always said that he liked tattoos, liked the pain and he liked how they weren’t going to fade. They were always going to be there, dependable._

_Sometimes I wondered if he trusted tattoos more than he trusted people. The night I last saw him I remember thinking there’s a lot of hurt in his eyes, a lot of pain stored there, somewhere he thought no one could see it. But I could see it, standing in his doorway. I could see it clearly._

_Maybe I should’ve told him I loved him. But it would’ve hurt more, maybe, when things finally ended._

_I got a tattoo. Or, I’m going to, but it’ll be marked on me by the time I hand this short story in to Mr. Russell, anyway. It didn’t take a lot of effort to figure out what I wanted, I’ve known what I wanted it to be for a long time. Whenever I asked him about the birds on his chest, or the ship on his arm, he’d just shrug. “It’s just a boat,” he’d say. Or, “they’re just some birds.” But I never believed him._

_So now, I’m going to get this bird on my arm, just above my wrist. He drew it for me, that one afternoon I wrote about. And I want it there, on my skin, for me to remember always. And you know what I’ll say when people ask me what it means?_

_“It’s just a fat bird.” That’s what I’ll say. They don’t have to know it’s for the first boy I’ve ever loved with my whole heart, with every fucking fibre of my being. That’s just for me to know._ ’”

Louis finishes, people clapping as he smiles a bit before sitting back down. As he does he spots a head of familiar dark hair in the back, telling himself that it’s nothing. It’s no one.

—

His room is on the first floor, just beside the kitchen. Sometimes, if anyone’s awake Louis will wake up to the sound of them moving about, usually the kettle going off a few minutes later where he’s lying on his bed.

Right now, though, he’s submitting his last application for university when he hears a noise. It’s soft, like a tap on the door as he pauses. But when he opens the door no one’s there, so he sits back in front of his laptop.

Until it happens again. “What the fuck —” Louis starts, but stops when he realizes it’s not someone at the door, but at his window.

He should be more surprised when he finds Harry there, looking unsure as Louis stares at him. “Could’ve just used the door, you know,” Louis comments.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just goes out to the front as Louis lets him in, everyone already asleep as Harry kicks off his shoes. They don’t say anything, walking up to Louis’ room as Harry steps inside. It’s the first time he’s been in here, Louis realizes as he closes the door slowly, so as to not wake anyone else in this house.

It’s awkward, Harry’s hands folded in front of himself as he sits on the edge of Louis’ bed. “I was at the reading the other day,” Harry says finally.

Louis nods, but doesn’t respond much else besides that. So Harry reaches out, tugging on his wrist as he pulls back the sleeve of his jumper, just a little. 

“Thought it looked familiar,” Harry says, voice quiet.

Louis almost gives in then, hearing the way Harry’s voice wavers, though it’s hardly noticeable. “Guess I should’ve asked before I used your drawing,” Louis mutters, pulling the sleeve back down over his wrist.

Harry shrugs. “It’s alright by me,” he says.

And there’s a few ways Louis could go about this, though most of the ways include a lot of colourful language that might wake up his whole family, so, that’s not an option. He leans against the edge of his desk, arms crossed over his chest.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” he finally settles on asking.

Harry’s ringing his hands together in his lap, something he does when he’s nervous, or unsettled. “I came to — explain.”

“Explain,” Louis echos, tapping an impatient finger against the flat surface of the desk.

Harry rubs his hands along his face, sighing. “I wanted to talk to you about Derek.” Louis opens his mouth to protest but Harry shakes his head, continuing. “I wanted to tell you about — us, I guess.”

And so, Louis listens. He listens and it’s the most he’s ever heard Harry talk at one time, he thinks to himself. 

It was him and Derek for years, apparently. They met when Harry was still in high school, though Derek had been a bit older than him. Harry fidgets with the string hanging from his sweatshirt, but he doesn’t stop talking, not once.

“And he moved away and I still — went to visit him, I guess. I wasn’t sleeping well, and I’d just gotten accepted into the school I wanted but, I don’t know. He said I shouldn’t go,” Harry rambles, sighing.

Louis pauses, brows furrowing. “He said you shouldn’t go where, to school?”

Harry nods, rubbing a hand along his face. “Said I’d fuck it up, or something, I don’t really remember to be honest,” he says, leaning back on one hand on Louis’ bed. “But it’s like — I knew that I needed to let him go, but I didn’t really see that until I met you.”

Louis blinks, staring at Harry. “I’m sorry?”

“He’s a dick,” Harry starts, waving his other hand. “Derek. He’s a dick and I just — I thought that he was the one I was gonna be stuck with forever, you know? So things got bad and I wasn’t, doing well. Shut everyone out, hardly left my room. When my mom finally took me to the doctor they prescribed me some antidepressants and it was weird, you know? Because I didn’t know that I wasn’t that not okay. It was just — I just thought I wanted Derek, I guess.”

Louis presses his lips together, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Are you okay now?”

Harry nods, slowly. “Yeah I’m alright now, for the most part. Still get off day’s, or a few off weeks, but. I’m alright.”

There’s a silence then, one Louis has been expecting since this whole conversation began. And he could react to this in two ways, really, possibly more if he had time to think on it. But ultimately he could kick Harry out and never speak to him again; or, he could, alternatively, try and give it another shot.

Another shot being friendship, or another shot being something more, whatever they decide on.

“You didn’t think about maybe, you know, telling me about this sooner?” Louis asks, smiling a little.

Harry’s shoulders sag a bit, Louis assumes from relief. “I wasn’t sure how to bring it up, or how to say it,” he says inflatedly.

“Saying what you just said would’ve been alright,” Louis replies, taking a step toward his bed. Harry doesn’t move as Louis goes to sit beside him, laughing quietly as he shakes his head.

“Well, sure, when you put it that way,” Harry says slowly and he’s smiling a little too, Louis observes after a moment.

Harry’s hand is on his thigh, palm up as Louis runs a gentle finger along his wrist. “I’m still mad,” Louis admits.

“I would be surprised if you weren’t,” Harry says, voice quieter now. Louis leans forward, just slightly, bumping their foreheads together. Harry inhales deeply, fingers brushing Louis’ collarbone as they stay there for a moment.

“How mad to you reckon you are at me? On a scale of one to ten?”

Louis hums at the question for a moment, considering before he answers. His fingertips are still brushing Harry’s wrist as Harry carefully encloses his hand around them, gently. “I’d say about a six. Maybe a six and a half,” Louis answers finally, biting down on the corner of his lip.

“That’s pretty high,” Harry says, “but do you — maybe think. You’d still wanna kiss me?”

Louis almost laughs but stops himself, snorting quietly as he stares at Harry. He’s just so much, sitting there, green eyes wide and hopeful — like a fucking six year old ready to tackle learning how to ride a bike for the first time. 

“Were you there? The other day?” Louis asks instead. Harry puffs out a breath, apparently one he’d been holding in anticipation.

“I um — Gemma mentioned it to me, that you were runner-up in that contest. So I thought I’d stop by,” Harry says.

“I saw you. I was, y’know, mad though so I didn’t say hi or anything,” Louis says, somewhat sheepishly as Harry nods, seemingly in understanding. “Did you hear me read my story? Or whatever?”

It’s strange, the feeling Louis gets in the pit of his stomach when Harry nods. He feels vulnerable, like all his secrets have somehow been spilled out between the two of them on his bed. “I liked it,” Harry says, hopelessly truthful. That’s never been a problem with him. “I was curious who it was about, though.”

Louis scoffs, their heads still bowed together as he glances down to where Harry’s hand is covering his own. “Oh it’s just, about this guy. You uh, don’t know him,” he says.

Harry laughs, the sound hushed as Louis rolls his eyes. “Strange, because I don’t know a lot of men with a huge fucking butterfly tattooed to their stomach,” he comments, lifting up a bit of his shirt.

“Oh, Jesus, you huge enormous twat it was about you, are you are happy now?” Louis snaps, though he hardly sounds annoyed. “And keep your shirt on, there are children sleeping in the next room.”

Harry winks, the absolute idiot, and Louis feels his cheeks flush in response. He’s smiling rather smug so Louis leans down, decidedly wanting to remove any and all smug looks from his face as he kisses Harry, softly.

It’s been awhile since they kissed. Louis doesn’t know the number of days offhand but he does know that he’s missed it, really fucking missed it. Harry kisses him back, gently tilting Louis’ head up toward him to deepen the kiss which, sure, Louis thinks as he all but whimpers into Harry’s mouth in response.

He runs a hand up Harry’s thigh, smirking to himself when he feels a surprise somewhere along his leg — a rather noticeable half hard cock. Or, what he assumes to be a cock, anyway.

“Happy to see me then?” Louis asks, laughing into Harry’s mouth. He’s soon quieted by Harry kissing him back, relentless as Louis gives in, allowing himself to be pressed back against his mattress.

—

He’s in his English Lit lecture when his phone goes off. Normally it’s turned off, or shut off because the battery’s died but today apparently is the day that it buzzes loudly from his bag. The professor stares at Louis where he’s sitting in his seat, muttering a quick, “shit, bugger, Jesus fuck —” and an, “I’m so fucking sorry, professor —” before stepping out into the hallway, pressing the answer button.

“Hello?” he answers, waiting to hear his mom on the other line, telling him that she’s gone to labour with the twins.

“ _What building was it again?_ ”

Louis all but slaps his hand to his forehead. “Styles, are you fucking kidding me.”

“ _I’m wandering around campus like an idiot,_ ” comes Harry’s recognizable voice. The one where he sounds like a small, lost puppy. Louis knows it well.

“I’ve been attending here for almost two years I assume you’re able to find your way around by now,” Louis snaps, but he’s smiling into his fist he’s got pressed against his mouth.

“ _Your school is alarmingly alike to my school, so naturally I’m going to get lost,_ ” Harry replies, defensive.

“Naturally. Of course,” Louis deadpans.

“ _Also, you mom called. She said she’s doing alright today but she’ll have Dan call you if you suddenly goes into labour,_ ” Harry says after a moment.

The class is almost over, people already starting to pack up their bags as Louis shakes his head. “My class is almost done, so just. Stay where you are I’ll come find you,” he instructs.

“ _Yes mum,_ ” Harry replies as Louis laughs before hanging up.

Once everyone is filing out he goes back in and collects his things, pointedly ignoring the glare from his professor as he goes back out into the hallway. Harry texts him that he’s near the library as Louis groans. At least a five minute walk from where he’s at.

It’s fall now; the leaves turning their usual red and orange hues, colouring the walkways as Louis glances to them for a moment. If anything, it makes his walk a bit more bearable.

He spots Harry easily, sitting on a park bench, wearing a long, black coat and his usual pair of tan, worn out boots Louis dislikes so much. Louis walks toward him, sitting down on the other side of the bench as he spots two coffee cups in Harry’s hands.

“Hi,” Louis says.

Harry turns, grinning. “Hey,” he replies.

“So I’m um, waiting for my boyfriend,” Louis starts, rolling his eyes dramatically, “but he’s late, as always. Is that — for anyone?”

Harry looks to the cup Louis is pointing at. “It’s for my boyfriend but he’s late too, so. All yours.”

Louis takes the cup, feeling the warmth from it spread to his hands as he shifts toward Harry, just a little. “Do you go here? Haven’t seen you around before,” Louis asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a ridiculously exaggerated fashion.

Harry’s doing a terrible job at not smiling noticeably, his dimples full on display as he coughs into a fist. God, he’s so embarrassing, Louis thinks briefly, but also fondly. If one can think fondly, that is.

“No I um, go to another school, unfortunately.”

Louis nods. “What do you study?”

“Art Therapy,” Harry answers. “You?”

“English. Specifically in the area of writing,” Louis says and if he sounds proud, then so be it. He’s allowed to be fucking proud of himself.

“Gonna write a book one day?” Harry asks, looking out across the small courtyard in front of them.

“Maybe,” Louis says, shrugging.

“You should,” Harry says, serious. “Write it about me.”

“How hideously boring,” Louis says, but he’s smiling as Harry leans toward him.

“You’re an idiot,” Harry says, teasingly, a finger hooked under Louis’ chin as he tilts his face up toward him now.

“Possibly,” Louis agrees. “But if anything, I’m _your_ idiot, so.”

“You would be right about that,” Harry says, voice just above a whisper now as he leans down, kissing Louis before he can say another word.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://loueh.tumblr.com/) if you wanna drop by!


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